STORIES  TO  TELL  TO 
CHILDREN 

FIFTY-ONE  STORIES  WITH  SOME 
SUGGESTIONS  FOR  TELLING 

BY 

SARA  CONE  BRYANT 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

(Cbe  fiitoevjsi&e  prejM  Cambridge 


olo4-£ 


COPYRIGHT   1907   BY  SARA  CONK   BRYANT 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 


3  CO 


PREFACE 

This  little  book  came  into  being  at  the 
instance  of  my  teaching  friends  all  over 
this  country.  Their  requests  for  more 
stories  of  the  kind  which  were  given  in 
"How  to  Tell  Stories  to  Children,"  and 
especially  their  urging  that  the  stories  they 
liked,  in  my  telling,  should  be  set  down  in 
print,  seemed  to  justify  the  hope  that  the 
collection  would  be  genuinely  useful  to 
them.  That  it  may  be,  is  the  earnest  desire 
with  which  it  is  offered.  I  hope  it  will  be 
found  to  contain  some  stories  which  are 
new  to  the  teachers  and  friends  of  little 
children,  and  some  which  are  familiar,  but 
in  an  easier  form  for  telling  than  is  usual. 
And  I  shall  indeed  be  content  if  its  value 
to  those  who  read  it  is  proportionate  to  the 
pleasure  and  mental  stimulus  which  has 
come  to  me  in  the  work  among  pupils  and 
teachers  which  accompanied  its  prepara- 
tion. 
Among  the  publishers  and  authors  whose 

260891 


iv  PREFACE 

kindness  enabled  me  to  quote  material  are 
Messrs.  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York 
and  London,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for 
"The  Lambikin;"  Messrs.  Little,  Brown 
and  Company  and  the  Alcott  heirs,  who 
allowed  me  the  use  of  Louisa  Alcott's  poem, 
"My  Kingdom;"  and  Dr.  Douglas  Hyde, 
of  Ireland,  whose  letter  of  permission  to  use 
his  Irish  material  was  in  itself  a  literary 
treasure.  To  the  charming  friend  who  gave 
me  the  outline  of  "Epaminondas,"  as  told 
her  by  her  own  "Mammy,"  I  owe  a  deeper 
debt,  for  " Epaminondas"  has  carried  joy 
since  then  into  more  schools  and  homes 
than  I  dare  to  enumerate ;  please  take  your 
thanks  now,  dear  Kentucky  friend! 

And  to  all  the  others,  —  friends  in  whom 
the  child  heart  lingers, — my  thanks  for  the 
laughs  we  have  had,  the  discussions  we 
have  warmed  to,  the  helps  you  have  given; 
a  greeting  to  you,  in  New  England  villages, 
in  Rocky  Mountain  towns,  on  the  banks  of 
the  Mississippi,  and  "down  South."  May 
you  never  lack  the  right  story  at  the  right 
time,  or  a  child  to  love  you  for  telling  it ! 
Sara  Cone  Bryant. 


CONTENTS 

Some  Suggestions  for  the  Story-Teller 
Additional  suggestions  for  method.  —  Two  valu- 
able types  of   story.  —  Sources  for  stories.  —  A 
graded  list  of  stories  to  dramatize  and  retell  .       .     ix 

8toht-Telling  in  Teaching  English 
Importance  of  oral  methods.  —  Opportunity  <rf 
the  primary  grades.  —  Points  to  be  observed  in 
dramatizing   and   retelling,   in   connection    with 
English xadx 

STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

Two  Little  Riddles  in  Rhyme      ...  1 

The  Little  Pink  Rose         ....  1 

The  Cock-a-doo-dle-doo 4 

The  Cloud 4 

The  Little  Red  Hen 7 

"The  Gingerbread  Man        ....  8 

The  Little  Jackals  and  the  Lion        .  15 

The  Country  Mouse  and  the  City  Mouse  19 

^Little  Jack  Rollaround         ....  23 

How   Brother   Rabbit   tooled   the  Whale 

and  the  Elephant 29 

The  Little  Half-Chick 83 

The  Lambikin 38 


vi  CONTENTS 

The  Blackberry-Bush 42 

The  Fairies .        47 

The  Adventures  of  the  Little  Field  Mouse  49 
Another  Little  Red  Hen  ....  58 
The  Story  of  the  Little  Rid  Hin  .  .  57 
The  Story  of  Epaminondas  and  his  Auntie  63 
The  Boy  who  cried  "  Wolf!  "        .        .        .68 

The  Frog  King 69 

The  Sun  and  the  Wind  .  .  .  .  .71 
The  Little  Jackal  and  the  Alligator  .  72 
The  Larks  in  the  Cornfield  .  .  .80 
A  True  Story  about  a  Girl    (Louisa  Alcott)        82 

My  Kingdom 88 

Piccola 90 

"The  Little  Fir  Tree 92 

How  Moses  was  Saved       .  .        .        .        .        99 

The  Ten  Fairies 103 

The  Elves  and  the  Shoemaker  .        .      109 

Who  killed  the  Otter's  Babies?  .        .        .113 

Early      . 116 

The  Brahmin,  the  Tiger,  and  the  Jackal  .  117 
The  Little  Jackal  and  the  Camel  .  .  125 
The  Gulls  of  Salt  Lake        ....  129 

The  Nightingale 134 

Margery's  Garden 145 

The  Little  Cotyledons       .        .        .        .159 


CONTENTS  vii 

The  Talkative  Tortoise         .        .        .        .165 

Robert  of  Sicily 168 

The  Jealous  Courtiers 177 

Prince  Cherry 181 

The  Gold  in  the  Orchard    .        .        .        .194 
Margaret  of  New  Orleans        .        .        .      195 

The  Dagda's  Harp 200 

The  Tailor  and  the  Three  Beasts  .        .      205 

'The  Castle  of  Fortune 215 

David  and  Goliath 224 

The  Shepherd's  Song 231 

The  Hidden  Servants 234 


SOME   SUGGESTIONS   FOB  THE 
STORY-TELLER 

Concerning  the  fundamental  points  of 
method  in  telling  a  story,  I  have  little  to 
add  to  the  principles  which  I  have  already 
stated  as  necessary,  in  my  opinion,  in  the 
book  of  which  this  is,  in  a  way,  the  con- 
tinuation. But  in  the  two  years  which 
have  passed  since  that  book  was  written,  I 
have  had  the  happiness  of  working  on 
stories  and  the  telling  of  them,  among 
teachers  and  students  all  over  this  country, 
and  in  that  experience  certain  secondary 
points  of  method  have  come  to  seem  more 
important,  or  at  least  more  in  need  of 
emphasis,  than  they  did  before.  As  so 
often  happens,  I  had  assumed  that  "those 
things  are  taken  for  granted;"  whereas,  to 
the  beginner  or  the  teacher  not  naturally 
a  story-teller,  the  secondary  or  implied 
technique  is  often  of  greater  difficulty  than 
the  mastery  of  underlying  principles.   The 


x        STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

few  suggestions  which  follow  are  of  this 
practical,  obvious  kind. 

Take  your  story  seriously.  No  matter 
how  riotously  absurd  it  is,  or  how  full  of 
inane  repetition,  remember,  if  it  is  good 
enough  to  tell,  it  is  a  real  story,  and  must 
be  treated  with  respect.  If  you  cannot  feel 
so  toward  it,  do  not  tell  it.  Have  faith  in 
the  story,  and  in  the  attitude  of  the  children 
toward  it  and  you.  If  you  fail  in  this,  the 
immediate  result  will  be  a  touch  of  shame- 
facedness,  affecting  your  manner  unfa- 
vorably, and,  probably,  influencing  your 
accuracy  and  imaginative  vividness. 

Perhaps  I  can  make  the  point  clearer 
by  telling  you  about  one  of  the  girls  in  a 
class  which  was  studying  stories  last  win- 
ter; I  feel  sure  if  she  or  any  of  her  fellow 
students  recognizes  the  incident,  she  will 
not  resent  being  made  to  serve  the  good 
cause,  even  in  the  unattractive  guise  of  a 
warning  example. 

A  few  members  of  the  class  had  pre- 
pared the  story  of  "The  Fisherman  and 
his  Wife."  The  first  girl  called  on  was 
evidently  inclined  to  feel  that  it  was  rather 
a  foolish  story.    She  tried  to  tell  it  well, 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STORY-TELLER    xi 

but  there  were  parts  of  it  which  produced 
in  her  the  touch  of  shamefacedness  to 
which  I  have  referred. 

When  she  came  to  the  rhyme, — 

"O  man  of  the  sea,  come,  listen  to  me, 
For  Alice,  my  wife,  the  plague  of  my  life, 
Has  sent  me  to  beg  a  boon  of  thee," 

she  said  it  rather  rapidly.  At  the  first 
repetition  she  said  it  still  more  rapidly;  the 
next  time  she  came  to  the  jingle  she  said  it 
so  fast  and  so  low  that  it  was  unintelligible ; 
and  the  next  recurrence  was  too  much  for 
her.  With  a  blush  and  a  hesitating  smile 
she  said,  "And  he  said  that  same  thing, 
you  know!"  Of  course  everybody  laughed, 
and  of  course  the  thread  of  interest  and 
illusion  was  hopelessly  broken  for  every- 
body. 

Now,  any  one  who  chanced  to  hear  Miss 
Shedlock  tell  that  same  story  will  remember 
that  the  absurd  rhyme  gave  great  oppor- 
tunity for  expression,  in  its  very  repetition; 
each  time  that  the  fisherman  came  to  the 
water's  edge  his  chagrin  and  unwillingness 
was  greater,  and  his  summons  to  the  magic 
fish  mirrored  his  feeling.  The  jingle  is 
foolish;  that  is  a  part  of  the  charm.  But  if 


xii      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

the  person  who  tells  it  feels  foolish,  there 
is  no  charm  at  all!  It  is  the  same  princi- 
ple which  applies  to  any  address  to  any 
assemblage:  if  the  speaker  has  the  air  of 
finding  what  he  has  to  say  absurd  or  un- 
worthy of  effort,  the  audience  naturally 
tends  to  follow  his  lead,  and  find  it  not 
worth  listening  to. 

Let  me  urge,  then,  take  your  story 
seriously. 

Next,  "take  your  time."  This  sugges- 
tion needs  explaining,  perhaps.  It  does 
not  mean  license  to  dawdle.  Nothing  is 
much  more  annoying  in  a  speaker  than  too 
great  deliberateness,  or  than  hesitation  of 
speech.  But  it  means  a  quiet  realization  of 
the  fact  that  the  floor  is  yours,  everybody 
wants  to  hear  you,  there  is  time  enough 
for  every  point  and  shade  of  meaning,  and 
no  one  will  think  the  story  too  long.  This 
mental  attitude  must  underlie  proper  con- 
trol of  speed.  Never  hurry.  A  business-like 
leisure  is  the  true  attitude  of  the  story- 
teller. 

And  the  result  is  best  attained  by  con- 
centrating one's  attention  on  the  episodes 
of  the  story.    Pass  lightly,  and  compara- 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STORY-TELLER  xiii 

tively  swiftly,  over  the  portions  between 
actual  episodes,  but  take  all  the  time  you 
need  for  the  elaboration  of  those.  And 
above  all,  do  not  feel  hurried. 

The  next  suggestion  is  eminently  plain 
and  practical,  if  not  an  all  too  obvious  one. 
It  is  this:  if  all  your  preparation  and  con- 
fidence fails  you  at  the  crucial  moment,  and 
memory  plays  the  part  of  traitor  in  some 
particular,  —  if,  in  short,  you  blunder  on  a 
detail  of  the  story,  never  admit  it.  If  it  was 
an  unimportant  detail  which  you  misstated, 
pass  right  on,  accepting  whatever  you  said, 
and  continuing  with  it ;  if  you  have  been  so 
unfortunate  as  to  omit  a  fact  which  was  a 
necessary  link  in  the  chain,  put  it  in,  later, 
as  skillfully  as  you  can,  and  with  as  de- 
ceptive an  appearance  of  its  being  in  the 
intended  order;  but  never  take  the  chil- 
dren behind  the  scenes,  and  let  them  hear 
the  creaking  of  your  mental  machinery. 
You  must  be  infallible.  You  must  be  in 
the  secret  of  the  mystery,  and  admit  your 
audience  on  somewhat  unequal  terms; 
they  should  have  no  creeping  doubts  as 
to  your  complete  initiation  into  the  secrets 
of  the  happenings  you  relate. 


xiv     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

Plainly,  there  can  be  lapses  of  memory 
so  complete,  so  all-embracing,  that  frank 
failure  is  the  only  outcome;  but  these  are 
so  few  as  not  to  need  consideration,  when 
dealing  with  so  simple  material  as  that  of 
children's  stories.  There  are  times,  too, 
before  an  adult  audience,  when  a  speaker 
can  afford  to  let  his  hearers  be  amused  with 
him  over  a  chance  mistake.  But  with  chil- 
dren it  is  most  unwise  to  break  the  spell  of 
the  entertainment  in  that  way.  Consider, 
in  the  matter  of  a  detail  of  action  or  de- 
scription, how  absolutely  unimportant  the 
mere  accuracy  is,  compared  with  the  effect 
of  smoothness  and  the  enjoyment  of  the 
hearers.  They  will  not  remember  the  de- 
tail, for  good  or  evil,  half  so  long  as  they 
will  remember  the  fact  that  you  did  not 
know  it.  So,  for  their  sakes,  as  well  as  for 
the  success  of  your  story,  cover  your  slips 
of  memory,  and  let  them  be  as  if  they  were 
not. 

And  now  I  come  to  two  points  in  method 
which  have  to  do  especially  with  humorous 
stories.  The  first  is  the  power  of  initiating 
the  appreciation  of  the  joke.  Every  natural 
humorist  does   this  by  instinct,  and   the 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STORY-TELLER     xv 

value  of  the  power  to  a  story-teller  can 
hardly  be  overestimated.  To  initiate  ap- 
preciation does  not  mean  that  one  neces- 
sarily gives  way  to  mirth,  though  even  that 
is  sometimes  natural  and  effective;  one 
merely  feels  the  approach  of  the  humorous 
climax,  and  subtly  suggests  to  the  hearers 
that  it  will  soon  be  "time  to  laugh."  The 
suggestion  usually  comes  in  the  form  of 
facial  expression,  and  in  the  tone.  And 
children  are  so  much  simpler,  and  so  much 
more  accustomed  to  following  another's 
lead  than  their  elders,  that  the  expression 
can  be  much  more  outright  and  unguarded 
than  would  be  permissible  with  a  mature 
audience. 

Children  like  to  feel  the  joke  coming,  in 
this  way;  they  love  the  anticipation  of  a 
laugh,  and  they  will  begin  to  dimple,  often, 
at  your  first  unconscious  suggestion  of 
humor.  If  it  is  lacking,  they  are  some- 
times afraid  to  follow  their  own  instincts. 
Especially  when  you  are  facing  an  audience 
of  grown  people  and  children  together,  you 
will  find  that  the  latter  are  very  hesitant 
about  initiating  their  own  expression  of 
humor.    It  is  more  difficult  to  make  them 


xvi      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

forget  their  surroundings  then,  and  more 
desirable  to  give  them  a  happy  lead.  Often 
at  the  funniest  point  you  will  see  some 
small  listener  in  an  agony  of  endeavor  to 
cloak  the  mirth  which  he  —  poor  mite  — 
fears  to  be  indecorous.  Let  him  see  that  it 
is  "the  thing"  to  laugh,  and  that  every- 
body is  going  to. 

Having  so  stimulated  the  appreciation 
of  the  humorous  climax,  it  is  important  to 
give  your  hearers  time  for  the  full  savor 
of  the  jest  to  permeate  their  consciousness. 
It  is  really  robbing  an  audience  of  its  rights., 
to  pass  so  quickly  from  one  point  to  an- 
other that  the  mind  must  lose  a  new  one  if 
it  lingers  to  take  in  the  old.  Every  vital 
point  in  a  tale  must  be  given  a  certain 
amount  of  time :  by  an  anticipatory  pause, 
by  some  form  of  vocal  or  repetitive  em- 
phasis, and  by  actual  time.  But  even 
more  than  other  tales  does  the  funny  story 
demand  this.  It  cannot  be  funny  with 
out  it. 

Every  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  thea 
tre  must  have  noticed  how  careful  all  come- 
dians are  to  give  this  pause  for  apprecia- 
tion and  laughter.    Often  the  opportunity 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STORY-TELLER  xvl 

is  crudely  given,  or  too  liberally  offered; 
and  that  offends.  But  in  a  reasonable  de- 
gree the  practice  is  undoubtedly  necessary 
to  any  form  of  humorous  expression. 

A  remarkably  good  example  of  the  type 
of  humorous  story  to  which  these  principles 
of  method  apply,  is  the  story  of  "  Epami- 
nondas,"  on  page  63.  It  will  be  plain  to 
any  reader  that  all  the  several  funny  crises 
are  of  the  perfectly  unmistakable  sort  chil- 
dren like,  and  that,  moreover,  these  funny 
spots  are  not  only  easy  to  see ;  they  are  easy 
to  foresee.  The  teller  can  hardly  help  shar- 
ing the  joke  in  advance,  and  the  tale  is 
an  excellent  one  with  which  to  practice  for 
power  in  the  points  mentioned. 

Epaminondas  is  a  valuable  little  rascal 
from  other  points  of  view,  and  I  mean  to 
return  to  him,  to  point  a  moral.  But  just 
here  I  want  space  for  a  word  or  two  about 
the  matter  of  variety  of  subject  and  style 
in  school  stories. 

There  are  two  wholly  different  kinds  of 
story  which  are  equally  necessary  for  chil- 
dren, I  believe,  and  which  ought  to  be 
given  in  about  the  proportion  of  one  to 
three,  in  favor  of  the  second  kind;  I  make 


xviii    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

the  ratio  uneven  because  the  first  kind  is 
more  dominating  in  its  effect. 

The  first  kind  is  represented  by  such 
stories  as  the  "Pig  Brother,"  which  has  now 
grown  so  familiar  to  teachers  that  it  will 
serve  for  illustration  without  repetition  here. 
It  is  the  type  of  story  which  specifically 
teaches  a  certain  ethical  or  conduct  lesson, 
in  the  form  of  a  fable  or  an  allegory, — it 
passes  on  to  the  child  the  conclusions  as  to 
conduct  and  character,  to  which  the  race 
has,  in  general,  attained  through  centuries 
of  experience  and  moralizing.  The  story 
becomes  a  part  of  the  outfit  of  received 
ideas  on  manners  and  morals  which  is  an 
inescapable  and  necessary  possession  of  the 
heir  of  civilization. 

Children  do  not  object  to  these  stories 
in  the  least,  if  the  stories  are  good  ones. 
They  accept  them  with  the  relish  which 
nature  seems  to  maintain  for  all  truly 
nourishing  material.  And  the  little  tales 
are  one  of  the  media  through  which  we 
elders  may  transmit  some  very  slight  share 
of  the  benefit  received  by  us,  in  turn,  from 
actual  or  transmitted  experience. 

The  second  kind  has  no  preconceived 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STORY-TELLER     xix 

moral  to  offer,  makes  no  attempt  to  affect 
judgment  or  to  pass  on  a  standard.  It 
simply  presents  a  picture  of  life,  usually 
in  fable  or  poetic  image,  and  says  to  the 
hearer,  "These  things  are."  The  hearer, 
then,  consciously  or  otherwise,  passes  judg- 
ment on  the  facts.  His  mind  says,  "These 
things  are  good;"  or,  "This  was  good,  and 
that,  bad;"  or,  "This  thing  is  desirable," 
or  the  contrary. 

The  story  of  "The  Little  Jackal  and  the 
Alligator"  (page  72)  is  a  good  illustration 
of  this  type.  It  is  a  character-story.  In  the 
naive  form  of  a  folk  tale,  it  doubtless  em- 
bodies the  observations  of  a  seeing  eye,  in  a 
country  and  time  when  the  little  jackal  and 
the  great  alligator  were  even  more  vivid 
images  of  certain  human  characters  than 
they  now  are.  Again  and  again,  surely,  the 
author  or  authors  of  the  tales  must  have 
seen  the  weak,  small,  clever  being  triumph 
over  the  bulky,  well-accoutred,  stupid  ad- 
versary. Again  and  again  they  had  laughed 
at  the  discomfiture  of  the  latter,  perhaps 
rejoicing  in  it  the  more  because  it  removed 
fear  from  their  own  houses.  And  probably 
never  had  they  concerned  themselves  par- 


xx       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

ticularly  with  the  basic  ethics  of  the  strug- 
gle. It  was  simply  one  of  the  things  they 
saw.  It  was  life.  So  they  made  a  picture 
of  it. 

The  folk  tale  so  made,  and  of  such  char- 
acter, comes  to  the  child  somewhat  as  an 
unprejudiced  newspaper  account  of  to- 
day's happenings  comes  to  us.  It  pleads 
no  cause,  except  through  its  contents;  it 
exercises  no  intentioned  influence  on  our 
moral  judgment ;  it  is  there,  as  life  is  there, 
to  be  seen  and  judged.  And  only  through 
such  seeing  and  judging  can  the  individual 
perception  attain  to  anything  of  power  or 
originality.  Just  as  a  certain  amount  of 
received  ideas  is  necessary  to  sane  devel- 
opment, so  is  a  definite  opportunity  for 
first-hand  judgments  essential  to  power. 

In  this  epoch  of  well-trained  minds  we 
run  some  risk  of  an  inundation  of  accepted 
ethics.  The  mind  which  can  make  inde- 
pendent judgments,  can  look  at  new  facts 
with  fresh  vision,  and  reach  conclusions 
with  simplicity,  is  the  perennial  power  in 
the  world.  And  this  is  the  mind  we  are 
not  noticeably  successful  in  developing,  in 
our  system  of  schooling.     Let  us  at  least 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STORY-TELLER    xii 

have  its  needs  before  our  consciousness, 
in  our  attempts  to  supplement  the  regular 
studies  of  school  by  such  side-activities  as 
story-telling.  Let  us  give  the  children  a 
fair  proportion  of  stories  which  stimulate 
independent  moral  and  practical  decisions. 

And  now  for  a  brief  return  to  our  little 
black  friend.  "  Epaminondas "  belongs  to 
a  very  large,  very  ancient  type  of  funny 
story:  the  tale  in  which  the  jest  depends 
wholly  on  an  abnormal  degree  of  stupidity 
on  the  part  of  the  hero.  Every  race  which 
produces  stories  seems  to  have  found  this 
theme  a  natural  outlet  for  its  childlike 
laughter.  The  stupidity  of  Lazy  Jack,  of 
Big  Claus,  of  the  Good  Man,  of  Clever 
Alice,  all  have  their  counterparts  in  the 
folly  of  the  small  Epaminondas. 

Evidently,  such  stories  have  served  a 
purpose  in  the  education  of  the  race.  While 
the  exaggeration  of  familiar  attributes 
easily  awakens  mirth  in  a  simple  mind, 
it  does  more:  it  teaches  practical  lessons 
of  wisdom  and  discretion.  And  possibly 
the  lesson  was  the  original  cause  of  the 
story. 

Not  long  ago,  I  happened  upon  an  in- 


xxii    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

stance  of  the  teaching  power  of  these  non- 
sense tales,  so  amusing  and  convincing 
that  I  cannot  forbear  to  share  it.  A  pri- 
mary teacher  who  heard  me  tell  "Epami- 
nondas"  one  evening,  told  it  to  her  pupils 
the  next  morning,  with  great  effect.  A 
young  teacher  who  was  observing  in  the 
room  at  the  time  told  me  what  befell. 
She  said  the  children  laughed  very  heart- 
ily over  the  story,  and  evidently  liked  it 
much.  About  an  hour  later,  one  of  them 
was  sent  to  the  board  to  do  a  little  problem. 
It  happened  that  the  child  made  an  ex- 
cessively foolish  mistake,  and  did  not  no- 
tice it.  As  he  glanced  at  the  teacher  for 
the  familiar  smile  of  encouragement,  she 
simply  raised  her  hands,  and  ejaculated, 
'" For  the  law's  sake!'" 

It  was  sufficient.  The  child  took  the  cue 
instantly.  He  looked  hastily  at  his  work, 
broke  into  an  irrepressible  giggle,  rubbed 
the  figures  out,  without  a  word,  and  began 
again.  And  the  whole  class  entered  into 
the  joke  with  the  gusto  of  fellow-fools,  for 
once  wise. 

It  is  safe  to  assume  that  the  child  in 
question   will   make   fewer   needless   mis- 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STORY-TELLER  xxiii 

takes  for  a  long  time  because  of  the  whole- 
some reminder  of  his  likeness  with  one 
who  "ain't  got  the  sense  he  was  born  with." 
And  what  occurred  so  visibly  in  his  case 
goes  on  quietly  in  the  hidden  recesses  of 
the  mind  in  many  cases.  One  "Epami- 
nondas"  is  worth  three  lectures. 

I  wish  there  were  more  of  such  funny 
little  tales  in  the  world's  literature,  all 
ready,  as  this  one  is,  for  telling  to  the 
youngest  of  our  listeners.  But  master- 
pieces are  few  in  any  line,  and  stories  for 
telling  are  no  exception;  it  took  genera- 
tions, probably,  to  make  this  one.  The 
demand  for  new  sources  of  supply  comes 
steadily  from  teachers  and  mothers,  and 
is  the  more  insistent  because  so  often  met 
by  the  disappointing  recommendations  of 
books  which  prove  to  be  for  reading  only, 
rather  than  for  telling.  It  would  be  a 
delight  to  print  a  list  of  fifty,  twenty-five, 
even  ten  books  which  would  be  found 
full  of  stories  to  tell  without  much  adapt- 
ing. But  I  am  grateful  to  have  found  even 
fewer  than  the  ten,  to  which  I  am  sure  the 
teacher  can  turn  with  real  profit.  The 
following  names  are,  of  course,  additional 


xxiv     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

to  the  list  contained  in  "  How  to  Tell  Stories 
to  Children." 

All  about  Johnnie  Jones.  By  Carolyn  Verhoeff. 
Milton  Bradley  Co.,  Springfield,  Mass.  Valu- 
able for  kindergartners  as  a  supply  of  realistic 
stories  with  practical  lessons  in  simplest  form. 

Old  Deccan  Days.  By  Mary  Frere.  Joseph  Mc- 
Donough,  Albany,  New  York.  A  splendid  collec- 
tion of  Hindu  folk  tales,  adaptable  for  all  ages. 

The  Silver  Crown.  By  Laura  E.  Richards. 
Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Boston.  Poetic  fables  with 
beautiful  suggestions  of  ethical  truths. 

The  Children's  Hour.  By  Eva  March  Tappan. 
Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston,  New  York, 
and  Chicago.  A  classified  collection,  in  ten  vol- 
umes, of  fairy,  folk  tales,  fables,  realistic,  his- 
torical, and  poetical  stories. 

For  the  Children's  Hour.  By  Carolyn  Bailey 
and  Clara  Lewis.  Milton  Bradley  Co.,  Spring- 
field. A  general  collection  of  popular  stories,  well 
told. 

The  Sons  of  Cormac.  By  Aldis  Dunbar.  Long- 
mans, Green  &  Co.,  London.  Rather  mature 
but  very  fine  Irish  stories. 

For  the  benefit  of  suggestion  to  teachers 
in  schools  where  story-telling  is  newly 
or  not  yet  introduced  in  systematic  form, 
I  am  glad  to  append  the  following  list  of 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STORY-TELLER     xxv 

stories  which  have  been  found,  on  several 
years'  trial,  to  be  especially  tellable  and 
likable,  in  certain  grades  of  the  Providence 
schools,  in  Rhode  Island.  The  list  is  not 
mine,  although  it  embodies  some  of  my 
suggestions.  I  offer  it  merely  as  a  practical 
result  of  the  effort  to  equalize  and  extend 
the  story-hour  throughout  the  schools.  Its 
makers  would  be  the  last  to  claim  ideal 
merit  for  it,  and  they  are  constantly  im- 
proving and  developing  it.  I  am  indebted 
for  the  privilege  of  using  it  to  the  primary 
teachers  of  Providence,  and  to  their  super- 
visor, Miss  Ella  L.  Sweeney. 

STORIES  FOR  REPRODUCTION 

First  Grade 

Chicken  Little  The  Dog  and  his  Shadow 

Barnyard  Talk  The  Hare  and  the  Hound 

Little  Red  Hen  Five  Little  Rabbits 

Little  Gingerbread  Boy  The  Three  Bears 

The  Lion  and  the  Mouse  The  Red-headed  Wood- 
The  Hungry  Lion  pecker 

The  Wind  and  the  Sun  Little  Red  Riding-Hood 

The  Fox  and  the  Crow  Little  Half-Chick 

The  Duck  and  the  Hen  The  Rabbit  and  the  Turtle 
The  Hare  and  the  Tortoise  The  Shoemaker  and  the 
The  Three  Little  Robins  Fairies 

The  Wolf  and  the  Kid  The  Wolf  and  the  Crane 

The  Crow  and  the  Pitcher  The  Cat  and  the  Mouse 

The  Fox  and  the  Grapes  Snow- White  and  Rose-Red 


xxvi    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

Second  Grade 

The  North  Wind  The  Lark  and  her   Little 

The  Mouse  Pie  Ones 

The  Wonderful  Traveler  The  Wolf  and  the  Goslings 

The  Wolf  and  the  Fox  The  Ugly  Duckling 

The  Star  Dollars  The  Country  Mouse  and  the 

The  Water-Lily  City  Mouse 

The  Three  Goats  The  Three  Little  Pigs 

The  Boy  and  the  Nuts  Diamonds  and  Toads 

The  Honest  Woodman  The  Thrifty  Squirrel 

The  Pied  Piper  How    the    Robin's    Breast 

King  Midas  became  Red 

The  Town  Musicians  The  Old  Woman  and  her 

Raggylug  Pig 

Peter  Rabbit  The  Sleeping  Apple 

The  Boy  who  cried  "Wolf"  The  Cat  and  the  Parrot 


Third  Grade 

The  Crane  Express  How    the    Mole     became 

Little  Black  Sambo  Blind 

The  Lantern  and  the  Fan     How  Fire  was  brought  to 
Why  the  Bear  has  a  Short      the  Indians 

Tail  Echo 

Why  the  Fox  has  a  White  Piccola 

Tip  to  his  Tail  The  Story  of  the  Morning- 

Why  the  Wren  flies  low  Glory  Seed 

Jack  and  the  Beanstalk         The      Discontented    Pine- 
The  Talkative  Tortoise  Tree 

Fleet  Wing  and  Sweet  Voice  The  Bag  of  Winds 
The  Golden  Fleece  The  Foolish  Weather- Vane 

The  Little  Boy  who  wanted  The  Shut-up  Posy 

the  Moon  Pandora's  Box 

Benjy  in  Beastland  The  Little  Match  Girl 

Tomtit's  Peep  at  the  World 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  STORY-TELLER  xxvii 

Fourth  Grade 

Arachne  The  First  Snowdrop 

The  Porcelain  Stove  The  Three  Golden  Apples 

Moufflou  Androclus  and  the  Lion 

Clytie  The    Old    Man    and    his 
The  Legend  of  the  Trailing       Donkey 

Arbutus  The  Leak  in  the  Dike 

Latona  and  the  Frogs  King  Tawny  Mane 

Dick  Whittington  and  his  The  Little  Lame  Prince 

Cat  Appleseed  John 

Dora,  the  Little  Girl  of  the  Narcissus 

Lighthouse  Why  the  Sea  is  Salt 

Proserpine  The  Little  Hero  of  Haar* 
The  Miraculous  Pitcher  lem 

The  Bell  of  Justice 


STORY-TELLING     IN     TEACHING 
ENGLISH 

I  have  to  speak  now  of  a  phase  of  ele- 
mentary education  which  lies  very  close  to 
my  warmest  interest,  which,  indeed,  could 
easily  become  an  active  hobby  if  other  in- 
terests did  not  beneficently  tug  at  my  skirts 
when  I  am  minded  to  mount  and  ride  too 
wildly.  It  is  the  hobby  of  many  of  you  who 
are  teachers,  also,  and  I  know  you  want  to 
hear  it  discussed.  I  mean  the  growing  ef- 
fort to  teach  English  and  English  literature 
to  children  in  the  natural  way:  by  speaking 
and  hearing,  —  orally. 

We  are  coming  to  a  realization  of  the  fact 
that  our  ability,  as  a  people,  to  use  English 
is  pitifully  inadequate  and  perverted.  Those 
Americans  who  are  not  blinded  by  a  limited 
horizon  of  cultured  acquaintance,  and  who 
have  given  themselves  opportunity  to  hear 
the  natural  speech  of  the  younger  genera- 
tion in  varying  sections  of  the  United  States, 
must  admit  that  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say 


xxx        STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

that  this  country  at  large  has  no  standard 
of  English  speech.  There  is  no  general 
sense  of  responsibility  to  our  mother  tongue 
(indeed,  it  is  in  an  overwhelming  degree 
not  our  mother  tongue)  and  no  general  ap- 
preciation of  its  beauty  or  meaning.  The 
average  young  person  in  every  district  save 
a  half-dozen  jealously  guarded  little  pre- 
cincts of  good  taste,  uses  inexpressive,  ill- 
bred  words,  spoken  without  regard  to  their 
just  sound-effects,  and  in  a  voice  which  is  an 
injury  to  the  ear  of  the  mind,  as  well  as  a 
torment  to  the  physical  ear. 

The  structure  of  the  language  and  the 
choice  of  words  are  dark  matters  to  most  of 
our  young  Americans;  this  has  long  been 
acknowledged  and  struggled  against.  But 
even  darker,  and  quite  equally  destructive 
to  English  expression,  is  their  state  of  mind 
regarding  pronunciation,  enunciation,  and 
voice.  It  is  the  essential  connection  of  these 
elements  with  English  speech  that  we  have 
been  so  slow  to  realize.  We  have  felt  that 
they  were  externals,  desirable  but  not  neces- 
sary adjuncts,  —  pretty  tags  of  an  excep- 
tional gift  or  culture.  Many  an  intelligent 
school  director  to-day  will  say,  "I  don't  care 


STORIES   IN   TEACHING    ENGLISH      xxxi 

much  about  how  you  say  a  thing;  it  is  what 
you  say  that  counts."  He  cannot  see  that 
voice  and  enunciation  and  pronunciation 
are  essentials.  But  they  are.  You  can  no 
more  help  affecting  the  meaning  of  your 
words  by  the  way  you  say  them  than  you 
can  prevent  the  expressions  of  your  face 
from  carrying  a  message;  the  message  may 
be  perverted  by  an  uncouth  habit,  but  it 
will  no  less  surely  insist  on  recognition. 

The  fact  is  that  speech  is  a  method 
of  carrying  ideas  from  one  human  soul  to 
another,  by  way  of  the  ear.  And  these 
ideas  are  very  complex.  They  are  not  un- 
mixed emanations  of  pure  intellect,  trans- 
mitted to  pure  intellect:  they  are  com- 
pounded of  emotions,  thoughts,  fancies,  and 
are  enhanced  or  impeded  in  transmission 
by  the  use  of  word-symbols  which  have 
acquired,  by  association,  infinite  complex- 
ities in  themselves.  The  mood  of  the  mo- 
ment, the  especial  weight  of  a  turn  of 
thought,  the  desire  of  the  speaker  to  share 
his  exact  soul-concept  with  you,  —  these 
seek  far  more  subtle  means  than  the  mere 
rendering  of  certain  vocal  signs;  they  de- 
mand such  variations  and  delicate  adjust- 


xxxii       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

ments  of  sound  as  will  inevitably  affect  the 
listening  mind  with  the  response  desired. 

There  is  no  "what "  without  the  "how" 
in  speech.  The  same  written  sentence  be- 
comes two  diametrically  opposite  ideas, 
given  opposing  inflection  and  accompany- 
ing voice-effect.  "He  stood  in  the  front 
rank  of  the  battle"  can  be  made  praiseful 
affirmation,  scornful  skepticism,  or  simple 
question,  by  a  simple  varying  of  voice  and 
inflection.  This  is  the  more  unmistakable 
way  in  which  the  "how"affects  the"  what." 
Just  as  true  is  the  less  obvious  fact.  The 
same  written  sentiment,  spoken  by  Wen- 
dell Phillips  and  by  a  man  from  the  Bow- 
ery or  an  uneducated  ranchman,  is  not  the 
same  to  the  listener.  In  one  case  the  senti- 
ment comes  to  the  mind's  ear  with  certain 
completing  and  enhancing  qualities  of 
sound  which  give  it  accuracy  and  poig- 
nancy. The  words  themselves  retain  all 
their  possible  suggestiveness  in  the  speak- 
er's just  and  clear  enunciation,  and  have  a 
borrowed  beauty,  besides,  from  the  asso- 
ciations of  fine  habit  betrayed  in  the  voice 
and  manner  of  speech.  And,  further,  the 
immense  personal  equation  shows  itself  in 


STORIES   IN   TEACHING    ENGLISH     xxxui 

the  beauty  and  power  of  the  vocal  expres- 
siveness, which  carries  shades  of  meaning, 
unguessed  delicacies  of  emotion,  intima- 
tions of  beauty,  to  every  ear.  In  the  other 
case,  the  thought  is  clouded  by  unavoid- 
able suggestions  of  ignorance  and  ugliness, 
brought  by  the  pronunciation  and  voice, 
even  to  an  unanalytical  ear;  the  meaning  is 
obscured  by  inaccurate  inflection  and  un- 
certain or  corrupt  enunciation;  but,  worst 
of  all,  the  personal  atmosphere,  the  aroma, 
of  the  idea  has  been  lost  in  transmission 
through  a  clumsy,  ill-fitted  medium. 

The  thing  said  may  look  the  same  on  a 
printed  page,  but  it  is  not  the  same  when 
spoken.  And  it  is  the  spoken  sentence 
which  is  the  original  and  the  usual  mode 
of  communication. 

The  widespread  poverty  of  expression  in 
English,  which  is  thus  a  matter  of  "how," 
and  to  which  we  are  awakening,  must  be 
corrected  chiefly,  at  least  at  first,  by  the 
common  schools.  The  home  is  the  ideal 
place  for  it,  but  the  average  home  of  the 
United  States  is  no  longer  a  possible  place 
for  it.  The  child  of  foreign  parents,  the 
child  of  parents  little  educated  and  bred  in 


xxxiv    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

limited  circumstances,  the  child  of  power- 
ful provincial  influences,  must  all  depend 
on  the  school  for  standards  of  English. 

And  it  is  the  elementary  school  which 
must  meet  the  need,  if  it  is  to  be  met  at  all. 
For  the  conception  of  English  expression 
which  I  am  talking  of  can  find  no  mode  of 
instruction  adequate  to  its  meaning,  save 
in  constant  appeal  to  the  ear,  at  an  age  so 
early  that  unconscious  habit  is  formed.  No 
rules,  no  analytical  instruction  in  later  de- 
velopment, can  accomplish  what  is  needed. 
Hearing  and  speaking;  imitating,  unwit- 
tingly and  wittingly,  a  good  model;  it  is  to 
this  method  we  must  look  for  redemption 
from  present  conditions. 

I  believe  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  real  revo- 
lution in  English  teaching,  —  only  it  is  a 
revolution  which  will  not  break  the  peace. 
The  new  way  will  leave  an  overwhelming 
preponderance  of  oral  methods  in  use  up  to 
the  fifth  or  sixth  grade,  and  will  introduce 
a  larger  proportion  of  oral  work  than  has 
ever  been  contemplated  in  grammar  and 
high  school  work.  It  will  recognize  the  fact 
that  English  is  primarily  something  spoken 
with  the  mouth  and  heard  with  the  ear. 


STORIES    IN   TEACHING   ENGLISH     xxxv 

And  this  recognition  will  have  greatest 
weight  in  the  systems  of  elementary  teach- 
ing. 

It  is  as  an  aid  in  oral  teaching  of  English 
that  story-telling  in  school  finds  its  second 
value;  ethics  is  the  first  ground  of  its  use- 
fulness, English  the  second,  —  and  after 
these,  the  others.  It  is,  too,  for  the  oral  uses 
that  the  secondary  forms  of  story-telling 
are  so  available.  By  secondary  I  mean 
those  devices  which  I  have  tried  to  indicate, 
as  used  by  many  American  teachers,  in  the 
chapter  on  "Specific  Schoolroom  Uses," 
in  my  earlier  book.  They  are  re-telling, 
dramatization,  and  forms  of  seat- work. 
All  of  these  are  a  great  power  in  the  hands 
of  a  wise  teacher.  If  combined  with  much 
attention  to  voice  and  enunciation  in  the 
recital  of  poetry,  and  with  much  good  read- 
ing aloud  by  the  teacher,  they  will  go  far 
toward  setting  a  standard  and  developing 
good  habit. 

But  their  provinces  must  not  be  con- 
fused or  overestimated.  I  trust  I  may  be 
pardoned  for  offering  a  caution  or  two 
to  the  enthusiastic  advocate  of  these 
methods,  —  cautions    the    need   of   which 


xxxvi     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

has  been  forced  upon  me,  in  experience 
with  schools. 

A  teacher  who  uses  the  oral  story  as  an 
English  feature  with  little  children  must 
never  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  it  is  an  aid 
in  unconscious  development;  not  a  factor 
in  studied,  conscious  improvement.  This 
truth  cannot  be  too  strongly  realized. 
Other  exercises,  in  sufficiency,  give  the 
opportunity  for  regulated  effort  for  defi- 
nite results,  but  the  story  is  one  of  the  play- 
forces.  Its  use  in  English  teaching  is  most 
valuable  when  the  teacher  has  a  keen  ap- 
preciation of  the  natural  order  of  growth  in 
the  art  of  expression:  that  art  requires,  as 
the  old  rhetorics  used  often  to  put  it,  "a 
natural  facility,  succeeded  by  an  acquired 
difficulty."  In  other  words,  the  power  of 
expression  depends,  first,  on  something 
more  fundamental  than  the  art-element; 
the  basis  of  it  is  something  to  say,  accom- 
panied by  an  urgent  desire  to  say  it,  and 
yielded  to  with  freedom;  only  after  this 
stage  is  reached  can  the  art-phase  be  of 
any  use.  The  "why"  and  "how,"  the  ana- 
lytical and  constructive  phases,  have  no 
natural  place  in  this  first  vital  epoch. 


STORIES   IN    TEACHING   ENGLISH     xxxvii 

Precisely  here,  however,  does  the  drama- 
tizing of  stories  and  the  paper-cutting,  etc., 
become  useful.  A  fine  and  thoughtful  prin- 
cipal of  a  great  school  asked  me,  recently, 
with  real  concern,  about  the  growing  use  of 
such  devices.  He  said,  "Paper-cutting  is 
good,  but  what  has  it  to  do  with  English  ?" 
And  then  he  added:  "The  children  use 
abominable  language  when  they  play  the 
stories ;  can  that  directly  aid  them  to  speak 
good  English  ?"  His  observation  was  close 
and  correct,  and  his  conservatism  more 
valuable  than  the  enthusiasm  of  some  of 
his  colleagues  who  have  advocated  sweep- 
ing use  of  the  supplementary  work.  But 
his  point  of  view  ignored  the  basis  of  ex- 
pression, which  is  to  my  mind  so  impor- 
tant. Paper-cutting  is  external  to  English, 
of  course.  Its  only  connection  is  in  its 
power  to  correlate  different  forms  of  ex- 
pression, and  to  react  on  speech-expression 
through  sense-stimulus.  But  playing  the 
story  is  a  closer  relative  to  English  than 
this.  It  helps,  amazingly,  in  giving  the 
"something  to  say,  the  urgent  desire  to  say 
it,"  and  the  freedom  in  trying.  Never  mind 
the  crudities,  —  at  least,  at  the  time;  work 


xxxviii    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

only  for  joyous  freedom,  inventiveness, 
and  natural  forms  of  reproduction  of  the 
ideas  given.  Look  for  very  gradual  changes 
in  speech,  through  the  permeating  power 
of  imitation,  but  do  not  forget  that  this  is 
the  stage  of  expression  which  inevitably 
precedes  art. 

All  this  will  mean  that  no  corrections  are 
made,  except  in  flagrant  cases  of  slang  or 
grammar,  though  all  bad  slips  are  men- 
tally noted,  for  introduction  at  a  more  fa- 
vorable time.  It  will  mean  that  the  teacher 
will  respect  the  continuity  of  thought  and 
interest  as  completely  as  she  would  wish  an 
audience  to  respect  her  occasional  prosy 
periods  if  she  were  reading  a  report.  She 
will  remember,  of  course,  that  she  is  not 
training  actors  for  amateur  theatricals,  how- 
ever tempting  her  show-material  may  be; 
she  is  simply  letting  the  children  play  with 
expression,  just  as  a  gymnasium  teacher 
introduces  muscular  play,  —  for  power 
through  relaxation. 

When  the  time  comes  that  the  actors  lose 
their  unconsciousness  it  is  the  end  of  the 
story-play.  Drilled  work,  the  beginning  of 
the  art,  is  then  the  necessity. 


STORIES   IN   TEACHING   ENGLISH    xxxix 

I  have  indicated  that  the  children  may  be 
left  undisturbed  in  their  crudities  and  oc- 
casional absurdities.  The  teacher,  on  the 
other  hand,  must  avoid,  with  great  judg- 
ment, certain  absurdities  which  can  easily 
be  initiated  by  her.  The  first  direful  pos- 
sibility is  in  the  choice  of  material.  It  is 
very  desirable  that  children  should  not  be 
allowed  to  dramatize  stories  of  a  kind  so 
poetic,  so  delicate,  or  so  potentially  valu- 
able that  the  material  is  in  danger  of  losing 
future  beauty  to  the  pupils  through  its  pre- 
sent crude  handling.  Mother  Goose  is  a 
hardy  old  lady,  and  will  not  suffer  from  the 
grasp  of  the  seven-year-old;  and  the  famil- 
iar fables  and  tales  of  the  "  Goldilocks  " 
variety  have  a  firmness  of  surface  which 
does  not  let  the  glamour  rub  off;  but 
stories  in  which  there  is  a  hint  of  the  beauty 
just  beyond  the  palpable  —  or  of  a  dignity 
suggestive  of  developed  literature  —  are 
sorely  hurt  in  their  metamorphosis,  and 
should  be  protected  from  it.  They  are  for 
telling  only. 

Another  point  on  which  it  is  necessary  to 
exercise  reserve  is  in  the  degree  to  which 
any  story  can  be  acted.    In  the  justifiable 


xl  STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

desire  to  bring  a  large  number  of  children 
into  the  action  one  must  not  lose  sight  of 
the  sanity  and  propriety  of  the  presentation. 
For  example,  one  must  not  make  a  ridicu- 
lous caricature,  where  a  picture,  however 
crude,  is  the  intention.  Personally  repre- 
sent only  such  things  as  are  definitely  and 
dramatically  personified  in  the  story.  If  a 
natural  force,  the  wind,  for  example,  is 
represented  as  talking  and  acting  like  a 
human  being  in  the  story,  it  can  be  imaged 
by  a  person  in  the  play;  but  if  it  remains  a 
part  of  the  picture  in  the  story,  performing 
only  its  natural  motions,  it  is  a  caricature  to 
enact  it  as  a  role.  The  most  powerful  in- 
stance of  a  mistake  of  this  kind  which  I  have 
ever  seen  will  doubtless  make  my  meaning 
clear.  In  playing  a  pretty  story  about  ani- 
mals and  children,  some  children  in  a  pri- 
mary school  were  made  by  the  teacher  to 
take  the  part  of  the  sea.  In  the  story,  the 
sea  was  said  to  "beat  upon  the  shore,"  as 
a  sea  would,  without  doubt.  In  the  play, 
the  children  were  allowed  to  thump  the 
floor  lustily,  as  a  presentation  of  their 
watery  functions!  It  was  unconscionably 
funny.   Fancy  presenting  even  the  crudest 


STORIES   IN   TEACHING   ENGLISH       xli 

image  of  the  mighty  sea,  surging  up  on  the 
shore,  by  a  row  of  infants  squatted  on  the 
floor  and  pounding  with  their  fists!  Such 
pitfalls  can  be  avoided  by  the  simple  rule 
of  personifying  only  characters  that  actu- 
ally behave  like  human  beings. 

A  caution  which  directly  concerns  the 
art  of  story-telling  itself,  must  be  added 
here.  There  is  a  definite  distinction  be- 
tween the  arts  of  narration  and  dramatiza- 
tion which  must  never  be  overlooked.  Do 
not,  yourself,  half  tell  and  half  act  the 
story;  and  do  not  let  the  children  do  it.  It 
is  done  in  very  good  schools,  sometimes, 
because  an  enthusiasm  for  realistic  and 
lively  presentation  momentarily  obscures 
the  faculty  of  discrimination.  A  much 
loved  and  respected  teacher  whom  I  re- 
cently listened  to,  and  who  will  laugh  if  she 
recognizes  her  blunder  here,  offers  a  good 
U bad  example"  in  this  particular.  She  said 
to  an  attentive  audience  of  students  that  she 
had  at  last,  with  much  difficulty,  brought 
herself  to  the  point  where  she  could  for- 
get herself  in  her  story:  where  she  could, 
for  instance,  hop,  like  the  fox,  when  she 
told  the  story  of  the  "sour  grapes."    She 


xlii      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

said,  "It  was  hard  at  first,  but  now  it  is  a 
matter  of  course;  and  the  children  do  it  too, 
when  they  tell  the  story."  That  was  the  pity! 
I  saw  the  illustration  myself  a  little  later. 
The  child  who  played  fox  began  with  a 
story:  he  said,  "Once  there  was  an  old  fox, 
and  he  saw  some  grapes;"  then  the  child 
walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and 
looked  up  at  an  imaginary  vine,  and  said, 
"He  wanted  some;  he  thought  they  would 
taste  good,  so  he  jumped  for  them;"  at 
this  point  the  child  did  jump,  like  his  role; 
then  he  continued  with  his  story,  "but  he 
could  n't  get  them."  And  so  he  proceeded, 
with  a  constant  alternation  of  narrative  and 
dramatization  which  was  enough  to  make 
one  dizzy. 

The  trouble  in  such  work  is,  plainly,  a 
lack  of  discriminating  analysis.  Telling  a 
story  necessarily  implies  non-identification 
of  the  teller  with  the  event;  he  relates  what 
occurs  or  occurred,  outside  of  his  circle  of 
consciousness.  Acting  a  play  necessarily 
implies  identification  of  the  actor  with  the 
event;  he  presents  to  you  a  picture  of  the 
thing,  in  himself.  It  is  a  difference  wide 
and  clear,  and  the  least  failure  to  recognize 


STORIES   IN   TEACHING   ENGLISH      xllii 

it  confuses  the  audience  and  injures  both 
arts. 

In  the  preceding  instances  of  secondary 
uses  of  story-telling  I  have  come  some 
distance  from  the  great  point,  the  funda- 
mental point,  of  the  power  of  imitation  in 
breeding  good  habit.  This  power  is  less 
noticeably  active  in  the  dramatizing  than  in 
simple  re-telling;  in  the  listening  and  the  re- 
telling, it  is  dominant  for  good.  The  child 
imitates  what  he  hears  you  say  and  sees 
you  do,  and  the  way  you  say  and  do  it,  far 
more  closely  in  the  story-hour  than  in  any 
lesson-period.  He  is  in  a  more  absorbent 
state,  as  it  were,  because  there  is  no  pre- 
occupation of  effort.  Here  is  the  great  op- 
portunity of  the  cultured  teacher;  here  is 
the  appalling  opportunity  of  the  careless  or 
ignorant  teacher.  For  the  implications  of 
the  oral  theory  of  teaching  English  are  evi- 
dent, concerning  the  immense  importance 
of  the  teacher's  habit.  This  is  what  it  all 
comes  to  ultimately:  the  teacher  of  young 
children  must  be  a  person  who  can  speak 
English  as  it  should  be  spoken,  —  purely, 
clearly,  pleasantly,  and  with  force. 

It  is  a  hard  ideal  to  live  up  to,  but  it  is 


xliv    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

a  valuable  ideal  to  try  to  live  up  to.  And 
one  of  the  best  chances  to  work  toward  at- 
tainment is  in  telling  stories,  for  there  you 
have  definite  material,  which  you  can  work 
into  shape  and  practice  on  in  private. 
That  practice  ought  to  include  conscious 
thought  as  to  one's  general  manner  in  the 
schoolroom,  and  intelligent  effort  to  under- 
stand and  improve  one's  own  voice.  I  hope 
I  shall  not  seem  to  assume  the  dignity  of 
an  authority  which  no  personal  taste  can 
claim,  if  I  beg  a  hearing  for  the  following 
elements  of  manner  and  voice,  which  ap- 
peal to  me  as  essential.  They  will,  prob- 
ably, appear  self-evident  to  my  readers,  yet 
they  are  often  found  wanting  in  the  public 
school-teacher;  it  is  so  much  easier  to  say 
"what  were  good  to  do"  than  to  do  it! 

Three  elements  of  manner  seem  to  me 
an  essential  adjunct  to  the  personality  of  a 
teacher  of  little  children:  courtesy,  repose, 
vitality.  Repose  and  vitality  explain  them- 
selves; by  courtesy  I  specifically  do  not 
mean  the  habit  of  mind  which  contents 
itself  with  drilling  the  children  in  "Good- 
mornings"  and  in  hat-liftings.  I  mean 
the  attitude  of  mind  which  recognizes  in 


STORIES   IN   TEACHING    ENGLISH      xlv 

the  youngest,  commonest  child  the  poten- 
tial dignity,  majesty,  and  mystery  of  the 
developed  human  soul.  Genuine  rever- 
ence for  the  humanity  of  the  "other  fellow" 
marks  a  definite  degree  of  courtesy  in  the 
intercourse  of  adults,  does  it  not?  And 
the  same  quality  of  respect,  tempered  by 
the  demands  of  a  wise  control,  is  exactly 
what  is  needed  among  children.  Again 
and  again,  in  dealing  with  young  minds, 
the  teacher  who  respects  personality  as 
sacred,  no  matter  how  embryonic  it  be, 
wins  the  victories  which  count  for  true  edu- 
cation. Yet,  all  too  often,  we  forget  the 
claims  of  this  reverence,  in  the  presence 
of  the  annoyances  and  the  needed  correc- 
tions. 

As  for  voice :  work  in  schoolrooms  brings 
two  opposing  mistakes  constantly  before 
me:  one  is  the  repressed  voice,  and  the 
other,  the  forced.  The  best  way  to  avoid 
either  extreme,  is  to  keep  in  mind  that 
the  ideal  is  development  of  one's  own 
natural  voice,  along  its  own  natural  lines. 
A  "quiet,  gentle  voice"  is  conscientiously 
aimed  at  by  many  young  teachers,  with  so 
great  zeal  that  the  tone  becomes  painfully 


xlvi     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

repressed,  "breathy,"  and  timid.  This  is 
quite  as  unpleasant  as  a  loud  voice, which 
is,  in  turn,  a  frequent  result  of  early  admo- 
nitions to  "speak  up."  Neither  is  natural. 
It  is  wise  to  determine  the  natural  volume 
and  pitch  of  one's  speaking  voice  by  a 
number  of  tests,  made  when  one  is  thor- 
oughly rested,  at  ease,  and  alone.  Find  out 
where  your  voice  lies  when  it  is  left  to  it- 
self, under  favorable  conditions,  by  reading 
something  aloud  or  by  listening  to  your- 
self as  you  talk  to  an  intimate  friend.  Then 
practise  keeping  it  in  that  general  range, 
unless  it  prove  to  have  a  distinct  fault,  such 
as  a  nervous  sharpness,  or  hoarseness.  A 
quiet  voice  is  good;  a  hushed  voice  is  ab- 
normal. A  clear  tone  is  restful,  but  a  loud 
one  is  wearying. 

Perhaps  the  common-sense  way  of  set- 
ting a  standard  for  one's  own  voice  is  to 
remember  that  the  purpose  of  a  speaking 
voice  is  to  communicate  with  others;  their 
ears  and  minds  are  the  receivers  of  our 
tones.  For  this  purpose,  evidently,  a  voice 
should  be,  first  of  all,  easy  to  hear;  next, 
pleasant  to  hear;  next,  susceptible  of  suf- 
ficient variation  to  express  a  wide  range  of 


STORIES   IN   TEACHING   ENGLISH    xlvii 

meaning;  and  finally,  indicative  of  person- 
ality. 

Is  it  too  quixotic  to  urge  teachers  who 
tell  stories  to  little  children  to  bear  these 
thoughts,  and  better  ones  of  their  own, 
in  mind?  Not,  I  think,  if  it  be  fully  ac- 
cepted that  the  story  hour,  as  a  play  hour, 
is  a  time  peculiarly  open  to  influences 
affecting  the  imitative  faculty;  that  this 
faculty  is  especially  valuable  in  forming 
fine  habits  of  speech;  and  that  an  increas- 
ingly high  and  general  standard  of  Eng- 
lish speech  is  one  of  our  greatest  needs 
and  our  most  instant  opportunities  in  the 
American  schools  of  to-day. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  stories! 


STORIES  TO   TELL  TO 
CHILDREN 


TWO  LITTLE  RIDDLES  IN  RHYME ' 

There's  a  garden  that  I  ken, 
Full  of  little  gentlemen; 
Little  caps  of  blue  they  wear, 
And  green  ribbons,  very  fair. 
(Flax.) 

From  house  to  house  he  goes, 
A  messenger  small  and  slight, 
And  whether  it  rains  or  snows. 
He  sleeps  outside  in  the  night. 
(The  path.) 

THE  LITTLE  PINK  ROSE 

Once  there  was  a  little  pink  Rosebud, 
and  she  lived  down  in  a  little  dark  house 

1  These  riddles  were  taken  from  the  Gaelic,  and  are  charm- 
ing examples  of  the  naive  beauty  of  the  old  Irish,  and  of  Dr. 
Hyde's  accurate  and  sympathetic  modern  rendering.  From 
"Beside  the  Fire"  (David  Nutt,  London). 


2        STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

under  the  ground.  One  day  she  was  sit- 
ting there,  all  by  herself,  and  it  was  very 
still.  Suddenly,  she  heard  a  little  tap,  tap, 
tap,  at  the  door. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  said. 

"It's  the  Rain,  and  I  want  to  come  in," 
said  a  soft,  sad,  little  voice. 

"No,  you  can't  come  in,"  the  little  Rose- 
bud said. 

By  and  by  she  heard  another  little  tap, 
tap,  tap  on  the  window  pane. 

"Who  is  there?"  she  said. 

The  same  soft  little  voice  answered, 
"It's  the  Rain,  and  I  want  to  come  in!" 

"No,  you  can't  come  in,"  said  the  little 
Rosebud. 

Then  it  was  very  still  for  a  long  time.  At 
last,  there  came  a  little  rustling,  whisper- 
ing sound,  all  round  the  window:  rustle, 
whisper,  whisper. 

"Who  is  there?"  said  the  little  Rosebud. 

"It's  the  Sunshine,"  said  a  little,  soft, 
cheery  voice,  "and  I  want  to  come  in!" 

"N — no,"  said  the  little  pink  rose,  "you 
can't  come  in."    And  she  sat  still  again. 

Pretty  soon  she  heard  the  sweet  little 
rustling  noise  at  the  key-hole. 


THE  LITTLE  PINK  ROSE  S 

"Who  is  there?"  she  said. 

"It's  the  Sunshine,"  said  the  cheery 
little  voice,  "and  I  want  to  come  in,  I 
want  to  come  in!" 

"No,  no,"  said  the  little  pink  rose, 
"you  cannot  come  in." 

By  and  by,  as  she  sat  so  still,  she  heard 
tap,  tap,  tap,  and  rustle,  whisper,  rustle, 
all  up  and  down  the  window  pane,  and 
on  the  door,  and  at  the  key-hole. 

"Who  is  there?"  she  said. 

"It's  the  Rain  and  the  Sun,  the  Rain 
and  the  Sun,"  said  two  little  voices,  to- 
gether, "and  we  want  to  come  in!  We 
want  to  come  in!   We  want  to  come  in!" 

"Dear,  dear!"  said  the  little  Rosebud, 
"if  there  are  two  of  you,  I  s'pose  I  shall 
have  to  let  you  in." 

So  she  opened  the  door  a  little  wee 
crack,  and  in  they  came.  And  one  took 
one  of  her  little  hands,  and  the  other 
took  her  other  little  hand,  and  they  ran, 
ran,  ran  with  her,  right  up  to  the  top  of 
the  ground.    Then  they  said,  — 

"Poke  your  head  through!" 

So  she  poked  her  head  through ;  and  she 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  garden. 


4        STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

It  was  springtime,  and  all  the  other  flow- 
ers had  their  heads  poked  through;  and 
she  was  the  prettiest  little  pink  rose  in  the 
whole  garden! 

THE    COCK-A-DOO-DLE-DOO1 

A  very  little  boy  made  this  story  up 
"out  of  his  head,'!  and  told  it  to  hisjpapa. 
I  think  you  littlest  ones  will  like  it;  I  do. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  little  boy, 
and  he  wanted  to  be  a  cock-a-doo-dle-doo. 
So  he  was  a  cock-a-doo-dle-doo.  And 
he  wanted  to  fly  up  into  the  sky.  So  he 
did  fly  up  into  the  sky.  And  he  wanted 
to  get  wings  and  a  tail.  So  he  did  get 
some  wings  and  a  tail. 

THE    CLOUD2 

One  hot  summer  morning  a  little  Cloud 
rose  out  of  the  sea  and  floated  lightly 
and    happily    across    the    blue    sky.     Far 

1  From  "  The  Ignominy  of  being  Grown  Up,"  by  Dr.  Samuel 
M.  Crothers,  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  July,  1906. 

2  Adapted  from  the  German  of  Robert  Reinick's  Marchen-, 
Lieder-  und  Geschichtenbuch  (Velhagen  und  Klasing,  Bielefeld 
and  Leipsic). 


THE  CLOUD  5 

below  lay  the  earth,  brown,  dry,  and 
desolate,  from  drouth.  The  little  Cloud 
could  see  the  poor  people  of  the  earth 
working  and  suffering  in  the  hot  fields, 
while  she  herself  floated  on  the  morning 
breeze,  hither  and  thither,  without  a  care. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  help  the  poor  peo- 
ple down  there!"  she  thought.  "If  I  could 
but  make  their  work  easier,  or  give  the 
hungry  ones  food,  or  the  thirsty  a  drink !" 

And  as  the  day  passed,  and  the  Cloud 
became  larger,  this  wish  to  do  something 
for  the  people  of  earth  was  ever  greater  in 
her  heart. 

On  earth  it  grew  hotter  and  hotter;  the 
sun  burned  down  so  fiercely  that  the  people 
were  fainting  in  its  rays;  it  seemed  as  if 
they  must  die  of  heat,  and  yet  they  were 
obliged  to  go  on  with  their  work,  for  they 
were  very  poor.  Sometimes  they  stood  and 
looked  up  at  the  Cloud,  as  if  they  were 
praying,  and  saying,  "Ah,  if  you  could 
help  us!" 

"I  will  help  you;  I  will!"  said  the  Cloud. 
And  she  began  to  sink  softly  down  toward 
the  earth. 

But  suddenly,  as  she  floated  down,  she 


e        STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

remembered  something  which  had  been 
told  her  when  she  was  a  tiny  Cloud-child, 
in  the  lap  of  Mother  Ocean:  it  had  been 
whispered  that  if  the  Clouds  go  too  near 
the  earth  they  die.  When  she  remembered 
this  she  held  herself  from  sinking,  and 
swayed  here  and  there  on  the  breeze, 
thinking,  —  thinking.  But  at  last  she  stood 
quite  still,  and  spoke  boldly  and  proudly. 
She  said,  "Men  of  earth,  I  will  help  you, 
come  what  may!" 

The  thought  made  her  suddenly  marvel- 
ously  big  and  strong  and  powerful.  Never 
had  she  dreamed  that  she  could  be  so  big. 
Like  a  mighty  angel  of  blessing  she  stood 
above  the  earth,  and  lifted  her  head  and 
spread  her  wings  far  over  the  fields  and 
woods.  She  was  so  great,  so  majestic,  that 
men  and  animals  were  awe-struck  at  the 
sight;  the  trees  and  the  grasses  bowed  be- 
fore her;  yet  all  the  earth-creatures  felt  that 
she  meant  them  well. 

"Yes,  I  will  help  you,"  cried  the  Cloud 
once  more.  "Take  me  to  yourselves;  I  will 
give  my  life  for  you!" 

As  she  said  the  words  a  wonderful  light 
glowed  from  her  heart,  the  sound  of  thunder 


THE  LITTLE  RED  HEN  7 

rolled  through  the  sky,  and  a  love  greater 
than  words  can  tell  filled  the  Cloud;  down, 
down,  close  to  the  earth  she  swept,  and  gave 
up  her  life  in  a  blessed,  healing  shower  of 
rain. 

That  rain  was  the  Cloud's  great  deed; 
it  was  her  death,  too;  but  it  was  also  her 
glory.  Over  the  whole  country-side,  as  far 
as  the  rain  fell,  a  lovely  rainbow  sprang  its 
arch,  and  all  the  brightest  rays  of  heaven 
made  its  colors;  it  was  the  last  greeting  of 
a  love  so  great  that  it  sacrificed  itself. 

Soon  that,  too,  was  gone,  but  long,  long 
afterward  the  men  and  animals  who  were 
saved  by  the  Cloud  kept  her  blessing  in 
their  hearts. 

THE  LITTLE  RED  HEN 

The  little  Red  Hen  was  in  the  farmyard 
with  her  chickens,  when  she  found  a  grain 
of  wheat. 

"Who  will  plant  this  wheat?"  she  said. 

"Not  I,"  said  the  Goose. 

"Not  I,"  said  the  Duck. 

"I  will,  then,"  said  the  little  Red  Hen, 
and  she  planted  the  grain  of  wheat. 


S        STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

When  the  wheat  was  ripe  she  said,  "  Who 
will  take  this  wheat  to  the  mill?" 

"Not  I,"  said  the  Goose. 

"Not  I,"  said  the  Duck. 

"I  will,  then,"  said  the  little  Red  Hen, 
and  she  took  the  wheat  to  the  mill. 

When  she  brought  the  flour  home  she 
said,  "Who  will  make  some  bread  with 
this  flour?" 

"Not  I,"  said  the  Goose. 

"Not  I,"  said  the  Duck. 

"I  will,  then,"  said  the  little  Red  Hen. 

When  the  bread  was  baked,  she  said, 
"Who  will  eat  this  bread?" 

"I  will,"  said  the  Goose. 

"I  will,"  said  the  Duck. 

"No, you  won't,"  said  the  little  Red  Hen. 
"I  shall  eat  it  myself.  Cluck!  cluck!"  And 
she  called  her  chickens  to  help  her. 

THE  GINGERBREAD   MAN1 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  little  old 
woman  and  a   little  old   man,  and  they 

1  I  have  tried  to  give  this  story  in  the  most  familiar  form;  it 
varies  a  good  deal  in  the  hands  of  different  story-tellers,  but 
this  is  substantially  the  version  I  was  "brought  up  on."  The 
form  of  the  ending  was  suggested  to  me  by  the  story  in  Carolyn 
Bailey's  For  the  Children's  Hour  (Milton  Bradley  Co.). 


THE  GINGERBREAD   MAN 


lived  all  alone  in  a  little  old  house.  They 
had  n't  any  little  girls  or  any  little  boys, 
at  all.  So  one  day,  the  little  old  woman 
made  a  boy  out  of  gingerbread;  she  made 
him  a  chocolate  jacket,  and  put  cinnamon 
seeds  in  it  for  buttons;  his  eyes  were  made 
of  fine,  fat  currants ;  his  mouth  was  made 
of  rose-colored  sugar;  and  he  had  a  gay 
little  cap  of  orange  sugar-candy.  When 
the  little  old  woman  had  rolled  him  out, 
and  dressed  him  up,  and  pinched  his  gin- 
gerbread shoes  into  shape,  she  put  him  in 
a  pan;  then  she  put  the  pan  in  the  oven 
and  shut  the  door;  and  she  thought,  "Now 
I  shall  have  a  little  boy  of  my  own." 

When  it  was  time  for  the  Gingerbread 
Boy  to  be  done  she  opened  the  oven  door 
and  pulled  out  the  pan.  Out  jumped  the 
little  Gingerbread  Boy  on  to  the  floor,  and 
away  he  ran,  out  of  the  door  and  down  the 
street!  The  little  old  woman  and  the  little 
old  man  ran  after  him  as  fast  as  they  could, 
but  he  just  laughed,  and  shouted,  — 

"Run!  run!  as  fast  as  you  can! 

"  You  can't  catch  me,  I  'm  the  Ginger- 
bread Man!" 

And  they  could  n't  catch  him. 


10       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

The  little  Gingerbread  Boy  ran  on  and 
on,  until  he  came  to  a  cow,  by  the  road- 
side. "Stop,  little  Gingerbread  Boy,"  said 
the  cow;  "I  want  to  eat  you."  The  little 
Gingerbread  Boy  laughed,  and  said,  — 

"I  have  run  away  from  a  little  old 
woman, 

"And  a  little  old  man, 

"And  I  can  run  away  from  you,  I  can!" 

And,  as  the  cow  chased  him,  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder  and  cried, — 

"Run!   run!  as  fast  as  you  can! 

"You  can't  catch  me,  I'm  the  Ginger- 
bread Man!" 

And  the  cow  could  n't  catch  him. 

The  little  Gingerbread  Boy  ran  on,  and 
on,  and  on,  till  he  came  to  a  horse,  in 
the  pasture.  "Please  stop,  little  Ginger- 
bread Boy,"  said  the  horse,  "you  look  very 
good  to  eat."  But  the  little  Gingerbread 
Boy  laughed  out  loud.  "Oho!  oho!"  he 
said,  — 

"I  have  run  away  from  a  little  old  wo- 
man, 

"A  little  old  man, 

"A  cow, 

"And  I  can  run  away  from  you,  I  can!" 


THE  GINGERBREAD  MAN  11 

And,  as  the  horse  chased  him,  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder  and  cried,  — 

"Run!   run!  as  fast  as  you  can! 

"  You  can't  catch  me,  I  'm  the  Ginger- 
bread Man!" 

And  the  horse  could  n't  catch  him. 

By  and  by  the  little  Gingerbread  Boy 
came  to  a  barn  full  of  threshers.  When 
the  threshers  smelled  the  Gingerbread  Boy, 
they  tried  to  pick  him  up,  and  said,  "Don't 
run  so  fast,  little  Gingerbread  Boy;  you 
look  very  good  to  eat."  But  the  little  Gin- 
gerbread Boy  ran  harder  than  ever,  and  as 
he  ran  he  cried  out,  — 

"I  have  run  away  from  a  little  old  wo- 
man, 

"A  little  old  man, 

"A  cow, 

"A  horse, 

"And  I  can  run  away  from  you,  I  can!" 

And  when  he  found  that  he  was  ahead 
of  the  threshers,  he  turned  and  shouted 
back  to  them,  — 

"Run!   run!  as  fast  as  you  can! 

"You  can't  catch  me,  I'm  the  Ginger- 
bread Man!" 

And  the  threshers  could  n't  catch  him. 


IS      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

Then  the  little  Gingerbread  Boy  ran 
faster  than  ever.  He  ran  and  ran  until  he 
came  to  a  field  full  of  mowers.  When  the 
mowers  saw  how  fine  he  looked,  they  ran 
after  him,  calling  out,  "Wait  a  bit!  wait  a 
bit,  little  Gingerbread  Boy,  we  wish  to  eat 
you!"  But  the  little  Gingerbread  Boy 
laughed  harder  than  ever,  and  ran  like  the 
wind.   "Oho!  oho!"  he  said, — 

"I  have  run  away  from  a  little  old 
woman, 

"A  little  old  man, 

"A  cow, 

"A  horse, 

"A  barn  full  of  threshers, 

"And  I  can  run  away  from  you,  I  can!" 

And  when  he  found  that  he  was  ahead 
of  the  mowers,  he  turned  and  shouted 
back  to  them,  — 

"Run!  run!  as  fast  as  you  can! 

"You  can't  catch  me,  I'm  the  Ginger- 
bread Man!" 

And  the  mowers  could  n't  catch  him. 

By  this  time  the  little  Gingerbread  Boy 
was  so  proud  that  he  did  n't  think  anybody 
could  catch  him.  Pretty  soon  he  saw  a 
fox  coming  across  a  field.    The  fox  looked 


THE  GINGERBREAD  MAN  18 

at  him  and  began  to  run.  But  the  little 
Gingerbread  Boy  shouted  across  to  him, 
"You  can't  catch  me!"  The  fox  began  to 
run  faster,  and  the  little  Gingerbread  Boy 
ran  faster,  and  as  he  ran  he  chuckled,  — 

"I  have  run  away  from  a  little  old 
woman, 

"A  little  old  man, 

"A  cow, 

"A  horse, 

"A  barn  full  of  threshers, 

"A  field  full  of  mowers, 

"And  I  can  run  away  from  you,  I  can! 

"Run!  run!  as  fast  as  you  can! 

"You  can't  catch  me,  I'm  the  Ginger- 
bread Man!" 

"Why,"  said  the  fox,  "I  would  not  catch 
you  if  I  could.  I  would  not  think  of  dis- 
turbing you." 

Just  then,  the  little  Gingerbread  Boy 
came  to  a  river.  He  could  not  swim  across, 
and  he  wanted  to  keep  running  away  from 
the  cow  and  the  horse  and  the  people. 

"Jump  on  my  tail,  and  I  will  take  you 
across,"  said  the  fox. 

So  the  little  Gingerbread  Boy  jumped  on 
the  fox's  tail,  and  the  fox  swam  into  the 


14      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

river.  When  he  was  a  little  way  from  shore 
he  turned  his  head,  and  said,  "You  are  too 
heavy  on  my  tail,  little  Gingerbread  Boy, 
I  fear  I  shall  let  you  get  wet ;  jump  on  my 
back." 

The  little  Gingerbread  Boy  jumped  oi 
his  back. 
.  A  little  farther  out,  the  fox  said,  "I  ai 
afraid  the  water  will  cover  you,  there;  jump 
on  my  shoulder." 

The  little  Gingerbread  Boy  jumped  on 
his  shoulder. 

In  the  middle  of  the  stream  the  fox  said, 
"Oh,  dear!  little  Gingerbread  Boy,  my 
shoulder  is  sinking;  jump  on  my  nose, 
and  I  can  hold  you  out  of  water." 

So  the  little  Gingerbread  Boy  jumped 
on  his  nose. 

The  minute  the  fox  got  on  shore  he 
threw  back  his  head,  and  gave  a  snap! 

"Dear  me!"  said  the  little  Gingerbread 
Boy,  "I  am  a  quarter  gone!"  The  next 
minute  he  said,  "Why,  I  am  half  gone!" 
The  next  minute  he  said,  "My  goodness 
gracious,  I  am  three  quarters  gone!" 

And  after  that,  the  little  Gingerbread 
Boy  never  said  anything  more  at  all. 


THE   JACKALS  AND  THE  LION  15 

THE    LITTLE    JACKALS   AND 
THE    LION1 

Once  there  was  a  great  big  jungle ;  and  in 
the  jungle  there  was  a  great  big  Lion;  and 
the  Lion  was  king  of  the  jungle.  Whenever 
he  wanted  anything  to  eat,  all  he  had  to 
do  was  to  come  up  out  of  his  cave  in  the 
stones  and  earth  and  roar.  When  he  had 
roared  a  few  times  all  the  little  people  of 
the  jungle  were  so  frightened  that  they 
came  out  of  their  holes  and  hiding-places 
and  ran,  this  way  and  that,  to  get  away. 
Then,  of  course,  the  Lion  could  see  where 
they  were.  And  he  pounced  on  them, 
killed  them,  and  gobbled  them  up. 

He  did  this  so  often  that  at  last  there 
was  not  a  single  thing  left  alive  in  the  jungle 
besides  the  Lion,  except  two  little  Jackals, 

1  The  four  stories  of  the  Kttle  Jackal,  in  this  book,  are  adapted 
from  stories  in  Old  Deccan  Days,  a  collection  of  orally  trans- 
mitted Hindu  folk  tales,  which  every  teacher  would  gain  by 
knowing.  In  the  Hindu  animal  legends  the  Jackal  seems  to 
play  the  role  assigned  in  Germanic  lore  to  Reynard  the  Fox, 
and  to  "  Bre'r  Rabbit"  in  the  stories  of  our  Southern  negroes:  he 
is  the  clever  and  humorous  trickster  who  comes  out  of  every 
encounter  with  a  whole  skin,  and  turns  the  laugh  on  every 
enemy,  however  mighty. 


16       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

—  a  little  father  Jackal  and  a  little  mothe 
Jackal. 

They  had  run  away  so  many  times  tha 
they  were  quite  thin  and  very  tired,  anc 
they  could  not  run  so  fast  any  more.  An< 
one  day  the  Lion  was  so  near  that  the  littl 
mother  Jackal  grew  frightened ;  she  said,  — 

"Oh,  Father  Jackal,  Father  Jackal!  '. 
b'lieve  our  time  has  come!  the  Lion  wil 
surely  catch  us  this  time!" 

"Pooh!  nonsense,  mother!"  said  th 
little  father  Jackal.  "Come,  we'll  run  o 
a  bit!" 

And  they  ran,  ran,  ran  very  fast,  and  th' 
Lion  did  not  catch  them  that  time. 

But  at  last  a  day  came  when  the  Lion 
was  nearer  still  and  the  little  mother  Jackal 
was  frightened  about  to  death. 

"Oh,  Father  Jackal,  Father  Jackal!" 
she  cried;  "I'm  sure  our  time  has  come! 
The  Lion's  going  to  eat  us  this  time!" 

"Now,  mother,  don't  you  fret,"  said  the 
little  father  Jackal;  "you  do  just  as  I  tell 
you,  and  it  will  be  all  right." 

Then  what  did  those  cunning  little  Jack- 
als do  but  take  hold  of  hands  and  run  up 
towards  the  Lion,  as  if  they  had  meant 


THE   JACKALS  AND  THE  LION  1? 

to  come  all  the  time.  When  he  saw  them 
coming  he  stood  up,  and  roared  in  a  ter- 
rible voice,  — 

"You  miserable  little  wretches,  come 
here  and  be  eaten,  at  once!  Why  did  n't 
you  come  before ?" 

The  father  Jackal  bowed  very  low. 

"Indeed,  Father  Lion,"  he  said,  "we 
meant  to  come  before;  we  knew  we  ought 
to  come  before;  and  we  wanted  to  come 
before;  but  every  time  we  started  to  come, 
a  dreadful  great  lion  came  out  of  the  woods 
and  roared  at  us,  and  frightened  us  so  that 
we  ran  away." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  roared  the  Lion. 
"There's  no  other  lion  in  this  jungle,  and 
you  know  it!" 

"Indeed,  indeed,  Father  Lion,"  said  the 
little  Jackal,  "I  know  that  is  what  every- 
body thinks;  but  indeed  and  indeed  there 
is  another  lion !  And  he  is  as  much  bigger 
than  you  as  you  are  bigger  than  I !  His  face 
is  much  more  terrible,  and  his  roar  far,  far 
more  dreadful.  Oh,  he  is  far  more  fearful 
than  you!" 

At  that  the  Lion  stood  up  and  roared  so 
that  the  jungle  shook. 


18       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

"Take  me  to  this  lion,"  he  said;  "I'll 
eat  him  up  and  then  I'll  eat  you  up." 

The  little  Jackals  danced  on  ahead,  and 
the  Lion  stalked  behind.  They  led  him  to 
a  place  where  there  was  a  round,  deep  well 
of  clear  water.  They  went  round  on  one 
side  of  it,  and  the  Lion  stalked  up  to  the 
other. 

"He  lives  down  there,  Father  Lion!" 
said  the  little  Jackal.  "He  lives  down 
there!" 

The  Lion  came  close  and  looked  down 
into  the  water,  —  and  a  lion's  face  looked 
back  at  him  out  of  the  water! 

When  he  saw  that,  the  Lion  roared  and 
shook  his  mane  and  showed  his  teeth.  And 
the  lion  in  the  water  shook  his  mane  and 
showed  his  teeth.  The  Lion  above  shook 
his  mane  again  and  growled  again,  and 
made  a  terrible  face.  But  the  lion  in  the 
water  made  just  as  terrible  a  one,  back. 
The  Lion  above  could  n't  stand  that.  He 
leaped  down  into  the  well  after  the  other 
lion. 

But,  of  course,  as  you  know  very  well, 
there  was  n't  any  other  lion  J  It  was  only 
the  reflection  in  the  water! 


COUNTRY  MOUSE  AND  CITY  MOUSE     19 

So  the  poor  old  Lion  floundered  about 
and  floundered  about,  and  as  he  could  n't 
get  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  well,  he  was 
drowned  dead.  And  when  he  was  drowned 
the  little  Jackals  took  hold  of  hands  and 
danced  round  the  well,  and  sang,  — 

"The  Lion  is  dead!   The  Lion  is  dead! 

"We  have  killed  the  great  Lion  who 
would  have  killed  us! 

"The  Lion  is  dead!   The  Lion  is  dead! 

"Ao!    Ao!    Ao!" 


THE    COUNTRY   MOUSE    AND 
THE    CITY    MOUSE1 

Once  a  little  mouse  who  lived  in  the 
country  invited  a  little  Mouse  from  the  city 
to  visit  him.    When  the  little  City  Mouse 

1  The  following  story  of  the  two  mice,  with  the  similar  fables 
of  The  Boy  who  cried  Wolf,  The  Frog  King,  and  The  Sun  and 
the  Wind,  are  given  here  with  the  hope  that  they  may  be  of  use 
to  the  many  teachers  who  find  the  over-familiar  material  of  the 
fables  difficult  to  adapt,  and  who  are  yet  aware  of  the  great  use- 
fulness of  the  stories  to  young  minds.  A  certain  degree  of  vivid- 
ness and  amplitude  must  be  added  to  the  compact  statement 
of  the  famous  collections,  and  yet  it  is  not  wise  to  change  the 
style-effect  of  a  fable,  wholly.  I  venture  to  give  these  versions, 
not  as  perfect  models,  surely,  but  as  renderings  which  have 
been  acceptable  to  children,  and  which  I  believe  retain  the 
original  point  simply  and  strongly. 


20       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

sat  down  to  dinner  he  was  surprised  to  find 
that  the  Country  Mouse  had  nothing  to  eat 
except  barley  and  grain. 

"Really,"  he  said,  "you  do  not  live  well 
at  all ;  you  should  see  how  I  live !  I  have  all 
sorts  of  fine  things  to  eat  every  day.  You 
must  come  to  visit  me  and  see  how  nice  it 
is  to  live  in  the  city." 

The  little  Country  Mouse  was  glad  to  do 
this,  and  after  a  while  he  went  to  the  city 
to  visit  his  friend. 

The  very  first  place  that  the  City  Mouse 
took  the  Country  Mouse  to  see  was  the 
kitchen  cupboard  of  the  house  where  he 
lived.  There,  on  the  lowest  shelf,  behind 
some  stone  jars,  stood  a  big  paper  bag 
of  brown  sugar.  The  little  City  Mouse 
gnawed  a  hole  in  the  bag  and  invited  his 
friend  to  nibble  for  himself. 

The  two  little  mice  nibbled  and  nib- 
bled, and  the  Country  Mouse  thought  he 
had  never  tasted  anything  so  delicious  in 
his  life.  He  was  just  thinking  how  lucky 
the  City  Mouse  was,  when  suddenly  the 
door  opened  with  a  bang,  and  in  came  the 
cook  to  get  some  flour. 

"Run!"    whispered    the    City    Mouse. 


COUNTRY  MOUSE  AND  CITY   MOUSE    SI 

And  they  ran  as  fast  as  they  could  to  the 
little  hole  where  they  had  come  in.  The 
little  Country  Mouse  was  shaking  all  over 
when  they  got  safely  away,  but  the  little 
City  Mouse  said,  "That  is  nothing;  she  will 
soon  go  away  and  then  we  can  go  back." 

After  the  cook  had  gone  away  and  shut 
the  door  they  stole  softly  back,  and  this 
time  the  City  Mouse  had  something  new 
to  show :  he  took  the  little  Country  Mouse 
into  a  corner  on  the  top  shelf,  where  a 
big  jar  of  dried  prunes  stood  open.  After 
much  tugging  and  pulling  they  got  a  large 
dried  prune  out  of  the  jar  on  to  the  shelf 
and  began  to  nibble  at  it.  This  was  even 
better  than  the  brown  sugar.  The  little 
Country  Mouse  liked  the  taste  so  much 
that  he  could  hardly  nibble  fast  enough. 
But  all  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  their  eating, 
there  came  a  scratching  at  the  door  and  a 
sharp,  loud  miaouw  I 

"What  is  that?"  said  the  Country 
Mouse.  The  City  Mouse  just  whispered, 
"  Sh! "  and  ran  as  fast  as  he  could  to  the 
hole.  The  Country  Mouse  ran  after,  you 
may  be  sure,  as  fast  as  he  could.  As  soon 
as  they  were  out  of  danger  the  City  Mouse 


22       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

said,  "  That  was  the  old  Cat;  she  is  the 
best  mouser  in  town,  —  if  she  once  gets 
you,  you  are  lost." 

"  This  is  very  terrible,"  said  the  little 
Country  Mouse;  "  let  us  not  go  back  to  the 
cupboard  again." 

"No,"  said  the  City  Mouse,  "I  will  take 
you  to  the  cellar;  there  is  something  espe- 
cial there." 

So  the  City  Mouse  took  his  little  friend 
down  the  cellar  stairs  and  into  a  big  cup- 
board where  there  were  many  shelves.  On 
the  shelves  were  jars  of  butter,  and  cheeses 
in  bags  and  out  of  bags.  Overhead  hung 
bunches  of  sausages,  and  there  were  spicy 
apples  in  barrels  standing  about.  It 
smelled  so  good  that  it  went  to  the  little 
Country  Mouse's  head.  He  ran  along  the 
shelf  and  nibbled  at  a  cheese  here,  and  a 
bit  of  butter  there,  until  he  saw  an  espe- 
cially rich,  very  delicious-smelling  piece  of 
cheese  on  a  queer  little  stand  in  a  corner. 
He  was  just  on  the  point  of  putting  his 
teeth  into  the  cheese  when  the  City  Mouse 
saw  him. 

"Stop!  stop!"  cried  the  City  Mouse. 
"That  is  a  trap!" 


LITTLE  JACK  ROLLAROUND  S3 

The  little  Country  Mouse  stopped  and 
said,  "What  is  a  trap?" 

"That  thing  is  a  trap,"  said  the  little 
City  Mouse.  "The  minute  you  touch  the 
cheese  with  your  teeth  something  comes 
down  on  your  head  hard,  and  you're  dead." 

The  little  Country  Mouse  looked  at  the 
trap,  and  he  looked  at  the  cheese,  and  he 
looked  at  the  little  City  Mouse.  "If  you'll 
excuse  me,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  will  go 
home.  I'd  rather  have  barley  and  grain 
to  eat  and  eat  it  in  peace  and  comfort,  than 
have  brown  sugar  and  dried  prunes  and 
cheese,  —  and  be  frightened  to  death  all 
the  time!" 

So  the  little  Country  Mouse  went  back 
to  his  home,  and  there  he  stayed  all  the  rest 
of  his  life. 


LITTLE   JACK  ROLLAROUND1 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  wee  little 
boy  who  slept  in  a  tiny  trundle-bed  near 
his  mother's  great  bed.   The  trundle-bed 

1  Based  on  Theodor  Storm's  story  of  Der  Kleine  Hawelmann 
(George  Westermann,  Braunschweig).  Very  freely  adapted  from 
the  German  story. 


24       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

had  castors  on  it  so  that  it  could  be  rolled 
about,  and  there  was  nothing  in  the  world 
the  little  boy  liked  so  much  as  to  have 
it  rolled.  When  his  mother  came  to  bed 
he  would  cry,  "Roll  me  around!  roll  me 
around!"  And  his  mother  would  put  out 
her  hand  from  the  big  bed  and  push  the 
little  bed  back  and  forth  till  she  was  tired. 
The  little  boy  could  never  get  enough;  so 
for  this  he  was  called  "Little  Jack  Roll- 
around." 

One  night  he  had  made  his  mother  roll 
him  about,  till  she  fell  asleep,  and  even  then 
he  kept  crying,  "Roll  me  around!  roll  me 
around!"  His  mother  pushed  him  about 
in  her  sleep,  until  she  fell  too  soundly 
aslumbering;  then  she  stopped.  But  Little 
Jack  Rollaround  kept  on  crying,  "Roll 
around!   roll  around!" 

By  and  by  the  Moon  peeped  in  at  the 
window.  He  saw  a  funny  sight:  Little 
Jack  Rollaround  was  lying  in  his  trundle- 
bed,  and  he  had  put  up  one  little  fat  leg 
for  a  mast,  and  fastened  the  corner  of  his 
wee  shirt  to  it  for  a  sail;  and  he  was  blow- 
ing at  it  with  all  his  might,  and  saying, 
"Roll    around!     roll    around!"     Slowly, 


LITTLE   JACK  ROLLAROUND  25 

slowly,  the  little  trundle-bed  boat  began 
to  move ;  it  sailed  along  the  floor  and  up 
the  wall  and  across  the  ceiling  and  down 
again ! 

"More!  more!"  cried  Little  Jack  Roll- 
around  ;  and  the  little  boat  sailed  faster  up 
the  wall,  across  the  ceiling,  down  the  wall, 
and  over  the  floor.  The  Moon  laughed  at 
the  sight;  but  when  Little  Jack  Rollaround 
saw  the  Moon,  he  called  out,  "Open  the 
door,  old  Moon!  I  want  to  roll  through 
the  town,  so  that  the  people  can  see  me!" 

The  Moon  could  not  open  the  door,  but 
he  shone  in  through  the  keyhole,  in  a  broad 
band.  And  Little  Jack  Rollaround  sailed 
his  trundle-bed  boat  up  the  beam,  through 
the  keyhole,  and  into  the  street. 

"Make  a  light,  old  Moon,"  he  said;  "I 
want  the  people  to  see  me!" 

So  the  good  Moon  made  a  light  and 
went  along  with  him,  and  the  little  trundle- 
bed  boat  went  sailing  down  the  streets 
into  the  main  street  of  the  village.  They 
rolled  past  the  town  hall  and  the  school- 
house  and  the  church;  but  nobody  saw 
little  Jack  Rollaround,  because  everybody 
was  in  bed,  asleep. 


26       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

"Why  don't  the  people  come  to  see  me?M 
he  shouted. 

High  up  on  the  church  steeple,  the 
Weather- vane  answered,  "It  is  no  time  for 
people  to  be  in  the  streets;  decent  folk  are 
in  their  beds." 

"Then  I'll  go  to  the  woods,  so  that  the 
animals  may  see  me,"  said  Little  Jack. 
"Come  along,  old  Moon,  and  make  a 
light!" 

The  good  Moon  went  along  and  made 
a  light,  and  they  came  to  the  forest.  "Roll! 
roll!"  cried  the  little  boy;  and  the  trundle- 
bed  went  trundling  among  the  trees  in  the 
great  wood,  scaring  up  the  chipmunks  and 
startling  the  little  leaves  on  the  trees.  The 
poor  old  Moon  began  to  have  a  bad  time 
of  it,  for  the  tree-trunks  got  in  his  way  so 
that  he  could  not  go  so  fast  as  the  bed,  and 
every  time  he  got  behind,  the  little  boy 
called,  "Hurry  up,  old  Moon,  I  want  the 
beasts  to  see  me!" 

But  all  the  animals  were  asleep,  and 
nobody  at  all  looked  at  Little  Jack  Roll- 
around  except  an  old  White  Owl;  and  all 
she  said  was,  "Who  are  you?" 

The  little  boy  did  not  like  her,  so  he 


LITTLE   JACK   ROLLAROUND  27 

blew  harder,  and  the  trundle-bed  boat 
went  sailing  through  the  forest  till  it  came 
to  the  end  of  the  world. 

"I  must  go  home  now;  it  is  late,"  said 
the  Moon. 

"I  will  go  with  you;  make  a  path!"  said 
Little  Jack  Rollaround. 

The  kind  Moon  made  a  path  up  to  the 
sky,  and  up  sailed  the  little  bed  into  the 
midst  of  the  sky.  All  the  little  bright  Stars 
were  there  with  their  nice  little  lamps.  And 
when  he  saw  them,  that  naughty  Little 
Jack  Rollaround  began  to  tease.  "Out  of 
the  way,  there!  I  am  coming!"  he  shouted, 
and  sailed  the  trundle-bed  boat  straight  at 
them.  He  bumped  the  little  Stars  right 
and  left,  all  over  the  sky,  until  every  one 
of  them  put  his  little  lamp  out  and  left  it 
dark. 

"Do  not  treat  the  little  Stars  so,"  said 
the  good  Moon. 

But  Jack  Rollaround  only  behaved  the 
worse:  "Get  out  of  the  way,  old  Moon! " 
he  shouted,  "I  am  coming!" 

And  he  steered  the  little  trundle-bed 
boat  straight  into  the  old  Moon's  face, 
and  bumped  his  nose! 


28      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

This  was  too  much  for  the  good  Moon; 
he  put  out  his  big  light,  all  at  once,  and 
left  the  sky  pitch-black. 

"Make  a  light,  old  Moon!  Make  a 
light!"  shouted  the  little  boy.  But  the 
Moon  answered  never  a  word,  and  Jack 
Rollaround  could  not  see  where  to  steer. 
He  went  rolling  criss-cross,  up  and  down, 
all  over  the  sky,  knocking  into  the  planets 
and  stumbling  into  the  clouds,  till  he  did 
not  know  where  he  was. 

Suddenly  he  saw  a  big  yellow  light  at 
the  very  edge  of  the  sky.  He  thought  it 
was  the  Moon.  "Look  out,  I  am  coming!" 
he  cried,  and  steered  for  the  light. 

But  it  was  not  the  kind  old  Moon  at  all; 
it  was  the  great  mother  Sun,  just  coming 
up  out  of  her  home  in  the  sea,  to  begin  her 
day's  work. 

"Aha,  youngster,  what  are  you  doing 
in  my  sky?"  she  said.  And  she  picked 
Little  Jack  Rollaround  up  and  threw  him, 
trundle-bed  boat  and  all,  into  the  middle 
of  the  sea! 

And  I  suppose  he  is  there  yet,  unless 
somebody  picked  him  out  again. 


THE    WHALE  AND  THE    ELEPHANT      29 

HOW  BROTHER  RABBIT  FOOLED 
THE  WHALE  AND  THE  ELEPHANT1 

One  day  little  Brother  Rabbit  was  run- 
ning along  on  the  sand,  lippety,  lippety, 
when  he  saw  the  Whale  and  the  Elephant 
talking  together.  Little  Brother  Rabbit 
crouched  down  and  listened  to  what  they 
were  saying.  This  was  what  they  were  say- 
ing:— 

"You  are  the  biggest  thing  on  the  land, 
Brother  Elephant,,,  said  the  Whale,  "and 
I  am  the  biggest  thing  in  the  sea ;  if  we  join 
together  we  can  rule  all  the  animals  in  the 
world,  and  have  our  way  about  everything." 

"Very  good,  very  good,"  trumpeted  the 
Elephant;  "  that  suits  me;  we  will  do  it." 

Little  Brother  Rabbit  snickered  to  him- 
self. "They  won't  rule  me,"  he  said.  He 
ran  away  and  got  a  very  long,  very  strong 
rope,  and  he  got  his  big  drum,  and  hid  the  if: 
drum  a  long  way  off  in  the  bushes.  Then 
he  went  along  the  beach  till  he  came  to  the 
Whale. 

1  Adapted  from  two  tales  included  in  the  records  of  the 
American  Folk-Lore  Society. 


30       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

(,  "Oh,  please,  dear,  strong  Mr.  Whale," 
he  said,  "will  you  have  the  great  kindness 
to  do  me  a  favor?  My  cow  is  stuck  in  the 
mud,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  here.  And 
I  can't  pull  her  out.  But  you  are  so  strong 
and  so  obliging,  that  I  venture  to  trust  you 
will  help  me  out." 

The  Whale  was  so  pleased  with  the  com- 
pliment that  he  said,  "Yes,"  at  once. 

"Then,"  said  the  Rabbit,  "  I  will  tie  this 
end  of  my  long  rope  to  you,  and  I  will  run 
away  and  tie  the  other  end  round  my  cow, 
and  when  I  am  ready  I  will  beat  my  big 
drum.  When  you  hear  that,  pull  very,  very 
hard,  for  the  cow  is  stuck  very  deep  in  the 
mud." 

"Huh!"  grunted  the  Whale,  "I'll  pull 
her  out,  if  she  is  stuck  to  the  horns." 
^y  Little  Brother  Rabbit  tied  the  rope-end 
to  the  whale,  and  ran  off,  lippety,  lippety, 
till  he  came  to  the  place  where  the  Ele- 
phant was. 

"Oh,  please,  mighty  and  kindly  Ele- 
phant," he  said,  making  a  very  low  bow, 
"will  you  do  me  a  favor?" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  Elephant. 

"My  cow  is  stuck  in  the  mud,  about  a 


THE    WHALE  AND  THE   ELEPHANT        31 

quarter  of  a  mile  from  here,"  said  little 
Brother  Rabbit,  "and  I  cannot  pull  her 
out.  Of  course  you  could.  If  you  will  be 
so  very  obliging  as  to  help  me  — " 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Elephant  grandly, 
"certainly." 

"Then,"  said  little  Brother  Rabbit,  "I 
will  tie  one  end  of  this  long  rope  to  your 
trunk,  and  the  other  to  my  cow,  and  as 
soon  as  I  have  tied  her  tightly  I  will  beat 
my  big  drum.  When  you  hear  that,  pull; 
pull  as  hard  as  you  can,  for  my  cow  is  very 
heavy." 

"Never  fear,"  said  the  Elephant,  "I 
could  pull  twenty  cows." 

"I  am  sure  you  could,"  said  the  Rabbit, 
politely,  "only  be  sure  to  begin  gently,  and 
pull  harder  and  harder  till  you  get  her." 

Then  he  tied  the  end  of  the  rope  tightly 
round  the  Elephant's  trunk,  and  ran  away 
into  the  bushes.  There  he  sat  down  and 
beat  the  big  drum. 

The  Whale  began  to  pull,  and  the  Ele- 
phant began  to  pull,  and  in  a  jiffy  the  rope 
tightened  till  it  was  stretched  as  hard  as 
could  be. 

"This  is  a  remarkably  heavy  cow,"  said 


32       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

the  Elephant;  "but  I'll  fetch  heri"  And 
he  braced  his  forefeet  in  the  earth,  and  gave 
a  tremendous  pull. 

"Dear  me!"  said  the  Whale.  "That 
cow  must  be  stuck  mighty  tight;"  and  he 
drove  his  tail  deep  in  the  water,  and  gave 
a  marvelous  pull. 

He  pulled  harder;  the  Elephant  pulled 
harder.  Pretty  soon  the  Whale  found 
himself  sliding  toward  the  land.  The 
reason  was,  of  course,  that  the  Elephant 
had  something  solid  to  brace  against, 
and,  too,  as  fast  as  he  pulled  the  rope  in 
a  little,  he  took  a  turn  with  it  round  his 
trunk ! 

But  when  the  Whale  found  himself 
sliding  toward  the  land  he  was  so  pro- 
voked with  the  cow  that  he  dove  head  first, 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  That  was 
a  pull!  The  Elephant  was  jerked  off  his 
feet,  and  came  slipping  and  sliding  to  the 
beach,  and  into  the  surf.  He  was  terribly 
angry.  He  braced  himself  with  all  his 
might,  and  pulled  his  best.  At  the  jerk,  up 
came  the  Whale  out  of  the  water. 

"Who  is  pulling  me?"  spouted  the 
Whale. 


THE   LITTLE  HALF-CHICK  33 

"Who  is  pulling  me?"  trumpeted  the 
Elephant. 

And  then  each  saw  the  rope  in  the  other's 
hold. 

"I'll  teach  you  to  play  cow!"  roared  the 
Elephant. 

"I'll  show  you  how  to  fool  me!"  fumed 
the  Whale.  And  they  began  to  pull  again. 
But  this  time  the  rope  broke,  the  Whale 
turned  a  somersault,  and  the  Elephant  fell 
over  backwards. 

At  that,  they  were  both  so  ashamed  that 
neither  would  speak  to  the  other.  So  that 
broke  up  the  bargain  between  them. 

And  little  Brother  Rabbit  sat  in  the  bushes 
and  laughed,  and  laughed,  and  laughed. 

THE  LITTLE  HALF-CHICK 

There  was  once  upon  a  time  a  Spanish 
Hen,  who  hatched  out  some  nice  little 
chickens.  She  was  much  pleased  with  their 
looks  as  they  came  from  the  shell.  One, 
two,  three,  came  out  plump  and  fluffy;  but 
when  the  fourth  shell  broke,  out  came  a  lit- 
tle half-chick !  It  had  only  one  leg  and  one 
wing  and  one  eye !  It  was  just  half  a  chicken. 


§4       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

The  Hen-mother  did  not  know  what  in 
the  world  to  do  with  the  queer  little  Half- 
Chick.  She  was  afraid  something  would 
happen  to  it,  and  she  tried  hard  to  protect 
it  and  keep  it  from  harm.  But  as  soon  as 
it  could  walk  the  little  Ha  If -Chick  showed 
a  most  headstrong  spirit,  worse  than  any 
of  its  brothers.  It  would  not  mind,  and  it 
would  go  wherever  it  wanted  to ;  it  walked 
with  a  funny  little  hoppity-kick,  hoppity- 
kick,  and  got  along  pretty  fast. 

One  day  the  little  Half- Chick  said, 
"  Mother,  I  am  off  to  Madrid,  to  see  the 
King!   Good-by." 

The  poor  Hen-mother  did  everything 
she  could  think  of,  to  keep  him  from  doing 
so  foolish  a  thing,  but  the  little  Half- Chick 
laughed  at  her  naughtily.  "I'm  for  seeing 
the  King,"  he  said;  "this  life  is  too  quiet 
for  me."  And  away  he  went,  hoppity-kick, 
lioppity-kick,  over  the  fields. 

When  he  had  gone  some  distance  the 
little  Half-Chick  came  to  a  little  brook 
that  was  caught  in  the  weeds  and  in  much 
trouble. 

"Little  Half-Chick,"  whispered  the  Wa- 
ter, "I  am  so  choked  with  these  weeds 


THE   LITTLE   HALF-CHICK  85 

that  I  cannot  move;  I  am  almost  lost, 
for  want  of  room;  please  push  the  sticks 
and  weeds  away  with  your  bill  and  help 
me." 

"The  idea!"  said  the  little  Half-Chick. 
"I  cannot  be  bothered  with  you;  I  am  off 
for  Madrid,  to  see  the  King!"  And  in  spite 
of  the  brook's  begging  he  went  away, 
hoppity-kick,  hoppity-kick. 

A  bit  farther  on,  the  Half-Chick  came 
to  a  Fire,  which  was  smothered  in  damp 
sticks  and  in  great  distress. 

"Oh,  little  Half-Chick,"  said  the  Fire, 
"you  are  just  in  time  to  save  me.  I  am 
almost  dead  for  want  of  air.  Fan  me  a 
little  with  your  wing,  I  beg." 

"The  idea!"  said  the  little  Half-Chick. 
"I  cannot  be  bothered  with  you;  I  am  off 
to  Madrid,  to  see  the  King!"  And  he 
went  laughing  off,  hoppity-kick,  hoppity- 
kick. 

When  he  had  hoppity-kicked  a  good  way, 
and  was  near  Madrid,  he  came  to  a  clump 
of  bushes,  where  the  Wind  was  caught 
fast.  The  Wind  was  whimpering,  and  beg- 
ging to  be  set  free. 

"Little  Half-Chick,"  said  theWind,"you 


36       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

are  just  in  time  to  help  me ;  if  you  will  brush 
aside  these  twigs  and  leaves,  I  can  get  my 
breath;   help  me,  quickly!" 

"Ho!  the  idea!"  said  the  little  Half- 
Chick.  "I  have  no  time  to  bother  with  you. 
I  am  going  to  Madrid,  to  see  the  King." 
And  he  went  off,  hoppity-kick,  hoppity- 
kick,  leaving  the  Wind  to  smother. 

After  a  while  he  came  to  Madrid  and 
to  the  palace  of  the  King.  Hoppity-kick, 
hoppity-kick,  the  little  Half-Chick  skipped 
past  the  sentry  at  the  gate,  and  hoppity- 
kick,  hoppity-kick,  he  crossed  the  court. 
But  as  he  was  passing  the  windows  of  the 
kitchen  the  Cook  looked  out  and  saw  him. 

"The  very  thing  for  the  King's  dinner!" 
she  said.  "I  was  needing  a  chicken!"  And 
she  seized  the  little  Half-Chick  by  his  one 
wing  and  threw  him  into  a  kettle  of  water 
on  the  fire. 

The  Water  came  over  the  little  Half- 
Chick's  feathers,  over  his  head,  into  his 
eyes.  It  was  terribly  uncomfortable.  The 
little  Half-Chick  cried  out, — 

"Water,  don't  drown  me!    Stay  down, 
don't  come  so  high!" 
.  But  the  Water  said,  "Little  Half-Chick, 


THE    LITTLE    HALF-CHICK  3? 

little  Half-Chick,  when  I  was  in  trouble 
you  would  not  help  me,"  and  came  higher 
than  ever. 

Now  the  Water  grew  warm,  hot,  hotter, 
frightfully  hot;  the  little  Half-Chick  cried 
out,  "Do  not  burn  so  hot,  Fire!  You  are 
burning  me  to  death!   Stop!" 

But  the  Fire  said,  "Little  Half-Chick, 
little  Half-Chick,  when  I  was  in  trouble 
you  would  not  help  me,"  and  burned  hotter 
than  ever. 

Just  as  the  little  Half-Chick  thought  he 
must  suffocate,  the  Cook  took  the  cover 
off,  to  look  at  the  dinner.  "Dear  me," 
she  said,  "this  chicken  is  no  good;  it  is 
burned  to  a  cinder."  And  she  picked  the 
little  Half- Chick  up  by  one  leg  and  threw 
him  out  of  the  window. 

In  the  air  he  was  caught  by  a  breeze 
and  taken  up  higher  than  the  trees.  Round 
and  round  he  was  twirled  till  he  was  so 
dizzy  he  thought  he  must  perish.  "Don't 
blow  me  so,  Wind,"  he  cried,  "let  me 
down!" 

"Little  Half-Chick,  little  Half-Chick," 
said  the  Wind,  "when  I  was  in  trouble 
you  would  not  help  me!"    And  the  Wind 


38       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

blew  him  straight  up  to  the  top  of  the 
church  steeple,  and  stuck  him  there,  fast! 
There  he  stands  to  this  day,  with  his  one 
eye,  his  one  wing,  and  his  one  leg.  He 
cannot  hoppity-kick  any  more,  but  he  turns 
slowly  round  when  the  wind  blows,  and 
keeps  his  head  toward  it,  to  hear  what  it 
says. 

THE   LAMBIKIN1 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  wee,  wee 
Lambikin,  who  frolicked  about  on  his 
little  tottery  legs,  and  enjoyed  himself 
amazingly. 

Now  one  day  he  set  off  to  visit  his 
Granny,  and  was  jumping  with  joy  to 
think  of  all  the  good  things  he  should  get 
from  her,  when  whom  should  he  meet  but 
a  Jackal,  who  looked  at  the  tender  young 
morsel  and  said,  "Lambikin!  Lambikin! 

I'll  EAT  YOU!" 

But  Lambikin  only  gave  a  little  frisk 
and  said, — 

"To  Granny's  house  I  go, 
Where  I  shall  fatter  grow; 
Then  you  can  eat  me  so." 

1  From  Indian  Fairy  Tales.   By  Joseph  Jacobs  (David  Nutt). 


THE  LAMBIKIN  39 

The  Jackal  thought  this  reasonable, 
and  let  Lambikin  pass. 

By  and  by  he  met  a  Vulture,  and  the 
Vulture,  looking  hungrily  at  the  tender 
morsel  before  him,  said,  "Lambikin! 
Lambikin!   I'll  eat  YOU!" 

But  Lambikin  only  gave  a  little  frisk, 
and  said,  — 

"To  Granny's  house  I  go, 
Where  I  shall  fatter  grow; 
Then  you  can  eat  me  so." 

The  Vulture  thought  this  reasonable, 
and  let  Lambikin  pass. 

And  by  and  by  he  met  a  Tiger,  and 
then  a  Wolf  and  a  Dog  and  an  Eagle, 
and  all  these,  when  they  saw  the  tender 
little  morsel,  said,  "Lambikin!  Lambikin! 

I'll  EAT  YOU!" 

But  to  all  of  them  Lambikin  replied, 
with  a  little  frisk, — 

"To  Granny's  house  I  go, 
Where  I  shall  fatter  grow; 
Then  you  can  eat  me  so." 

At  last  he  reached  his  Granny's  house, 
and  said,  all  in  a  great  hurry,  "Granny, 
dear,  I  've  promised  to  get  very  fat;  so,  as 


40       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

people  ought  to  keep  their  promises,  please 
put  me  into  the  corn-bin  at  once." 

So  his  Granny  said  he  was  a  good  boy, 
and  put  him  into  the  corn-bin,  and  there 
the  greedy  little  Lambikin  stayed  for  seven 
days,  and  ate,  and  ate,  and  ate,  until  he 
could  scarcely  waddle,  and  his  Granny 
said  he  was  fat  enough  for  anything, 
and  must  go  home.  But  cunning  little 
Lambikin  said  that  would  never  do,  for 
some  animal  would  be  sure  to  eat  him 
on  the  way  back,  he  was  so  plump  and 
tender. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  do,"  said 
Master  Lambikin;  "you  must  make  a  little 
drumikin  out  of  the  skin  of  my  little  brother 
who  died,  and  then  I  can  sit  inside  and 
trundle  along  nicely,  for  I'm  as  tight  as  a 
drum  myself." 

So  his  Granny  made  a  nice  little  drum- 
ikin out  of  his  brother's  skin,  with  the  wool 
inside,  and  Lambikin  curled  himself  up 
snug  and  warm  in  the  middle  and  trun- 
dled away  gayly.  Soon  he  met  with  the 
Eagle,  who  called  out, — 

"Drumikin!  Drumikin! 
Have  you  seen  Lambikin?" 


THE  LAMBIKIN  41 

And  Mr.  Lambikin,  curled  up  in  his  soft, 
warm  nest,  replied, — 

"Fallen  into  the  fire,  and  so  will  you 
On  little  Drumikin!    Tum-pa,  tum-too!" 

"How  very  annoying!"  sighed  the  Eagle, 
thinking  regretfully  of  the  tender  morsel 
he  had  let  slip. 

Meanwhile  Lambikin  trundled  along, 
laughing  to  himself,  and  singing, — 

"Tum-pa,  tum-too; 
Tum-pa,  tum-too!" 

Every  animal  and  bird  he  met  asked  him 
the  same  question,  — 

"Drumikin!  Drumikin! 
Have  you  seen  Lambikin  ?" 

And  to  each  of  them  the  little  slyboots 
replied, — 

"Fallen  into  the  fire,  and  so  will  you 
On  little  Drumikin!  Tum-pa,  tum-too!" 
Tum-pa,  tum-too!  tum-pa,  tum-too!" 

Then  they  all  sighed  to  think  of  the  ten- 
der little  morsel  they  had  let  slip. 

At  last  the  Jackal  came  limping  along, 
for  all  his  sorry  looks  as  sharp  as  a  needle, 
and  he,  too,  called  out, — 

"Drumikin!  Drumikin! 
Have  you  seen  Lambikin?" 


42       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

And  Lambikin,  curled  up  in  his  snug 
little  nest,  replied  gayly, — 

"Fallen  into  the  fire,  and  so  will  you 
On  little  Drumikin!  Tum-pa— " 

But  he  never  got  any  further,  for  the 
Jackal  recognized  his  voice  at  once,  and 
cried,  "Hullo!  you've  turned  yourself 
inside  out,  have  you?  Just  you  come  out 
of  that!" 

Whereupon  he  tore  open  Drumikin  and 
gobbled  up  Lambikin. 


THE  BLACKBERRY-BUSH1 

A  little  boy  sat  at  his  mother's  knees,  by 
the  long  western  window,  looking  out  into 
the  garden.  It  was  autumn,  and  the  wind 
was  sad;  and  the  golden  elm  leaves  lay 
scattered  about  among  the  grass,  and  on 
the  gravel  path.  The  mother  was  knitting 
a  little  stocking;  her  fingers  moved  the 
bright  needles;  but  her  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  clear  evening  sky. 

As  the  darkness  gathered,  the  wee  boy 
laid  his  head  on  her  lap  and  kept  so  still 

1  From  Celia  Thaxter's  Stories  and  Poems  for  Children. 


THE  BLACKBERRY-BUSH  48 

that,  at  last,  she  leaned  forward  to  look 
into  his  dear  round  face.  He  was  not 
asleep,  but  was  watching  very  earnestly  a 
blackberry-bush,  that  waved  its  one  tall, 
dark-red  spray  in  the  wind  outside  the 
fence. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  my 
darling?"  she  said,  smoothing  his  soft, 
honey-colored  hair. 

"The  blackberry-bush,  mamma;  what 
does  it  say  ?  It  keeps  nodding,  nodding  to 
me  behind  the  fence;  what  does  it  say, 
mamma?" 

"It  says,"  she  answered,  *I  see  a  happy 
little  boy  in  the  warm,  fire-lighted  room. 
The  wind  blows  cold,  and  here  it  is  dark 
and  lonely;  but  that  little  boy  is  warm 
and  happy  and  safe  at  his  mother's  knees. 
I  nod  to  him,  and  he  looks  at  me.  I 
wonder  if  he  knows  how  happy  he  is! 

"'See,  all  my  leaves  are  dark  crimson. 
Every  day  they  dry  and  wither  more  and 
more ;  by  and  by  they  will  be  so  weak  they 
can  scarcely  cling  to  my  branches,  and  the 
north  wind  will  tear  them  all  away,  and 
nobody  will  remember  them  any  more. 
Then  the  snow  will  sink  down  and  wrap 


44       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

me  close.  Then  the  snow  will  melt  again 
and  icy  rain  will  clothe  me,  and  the  bitter 
wind  will  rattle  my  bare  twigs  up  and 
down. 

"  '  I  nod  my  head  to  all  who  pass,  and 
dreary  nights  and  dreary  days  go  by;  but 
in  the  happy  house,  so  warm  and  bright, 
the  little  boy  plays  all  day  with  books  and 
toys.  His  mother  and  his  father  cherish 
him;  he  nestles  on  their  knees  in  the  red 
firelight  at  night,  while  they  read  to  him 
lovely  stories,  or  sing  sweet  old  songs  to 
him,  —  the  happy  little  boy !  And  outside 
I  peep  over  the  snow  and  see  a  stream  of 
ruddy  light  from  a  crack  in  the  window- 
shutter,  and  I  nod  out  here  alone  in  the 
dark,  thinking  how  beautiful  it  is. 

"'And  here  I  wait  patiently.  I  take  the 
snow  and  the  rain  and  the  cold,  and  I  am 
not  sorry,  but  glad;  for  in  my  roots  I  feel 
warmth  and  life,  and  I  know  that  a  store 
of  greenness  and  beauty  is  shut  up  safe  in 
my  small  brown  buds.  Day  and  night  go 
again  and  again;  little  by  little  the  snow 
melts  all  away;  the  ground  grows  soft; 
the  sky  is  blue;  the  little  birds  fly  over, 
crying,  "It  is  spring!    it  is  spring!"    Ah! 


THE  BLACKBERRY-BUSH  45 

then  through  all  my  twigs  I  feel  the  slow 
sap  stirring. 

"'Warmer  grow  the  sunbeams,  and 
softer  the  air.  The  small  blades  of  grass 
creep  thick  about  my  feet;  the  sweet  rain 
helps  swell  my  shining  buds.  More  and 
more  I  push  forth  my  leaves,  till  out  I  burst 
in  a  gay  green  dress,  and  nod  in  joy  and 
pride.  The  little  boy  comes  running  to 
look  at  me,  and  cries,  "Oh,  mamma!  the 
little  blackberry-bush  is  alive  and  beauti- 
ful and  green.  Oh,  come  and  see!"  And 
I  hear;  and  I  bow  my  head  in  the  summer 
wind;  and  every  day  they  watch  me  grow 
more  beautiful,  till  at  last  I  shake  out 
blossoms,  fair  and  fragrant. 

" '  A  few  days  more,  and  I  drop  the  white 
petals  down  among  the  grass,  and,  lo!  the 
green  tiny  berries !  Carefully  I  hold  them 
up  to  the  sun;  carefully  I  gather  the  dew 
in  the  summer  nights;  slowly  they  ripen; 
they  grow  larger  and  redder  and  darker, 
and  at  last  they  are  black,  shining,  deli- 
cious. I  hold  them  as  high  as  I  can  for 
the  little  boy,  who  comes  dancing  out.  He 
shouts  with  joy,  and  gathers  them  in  his 
dear  hand ;  and  he  runs  to  share  them  with 


46       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

his  mother,  saying,  "Here  is  what  the  pa- 
tient blackberry-bush  bore  for  us :  see  how 
nice,  mamma!" 

"'Ah!  then  indeed  I  am  glad,  and  would 
say,  if  I  could,  "Yes,  take  them,  dear  little 
boy;  I  kept  them  for  you,  held  them  long 
up  to  sun  and  rain  to  make  them  sweet  and 
ripe  for  you;"  and  I  nod  and  nod  in  full 
content,  for  my  work  is  done.  From  the 
window  he  watches  me  and  thinks,  "There 
is  the  little  blackberry-bush  that  was  so 
kind  to  me.  I  see  it  and  I  love  it.  I  know 
it  is  safe  out  there  nodding  all  alone,  and 
next  summer  it  will  hold  ripe  berries  up 
for  me  to  gather  again."  '  " 

Then  the  wee  boy  smiled,  and  liked  the 
little  story.  His  mother  took  him  up  in  her 
arms,  and  they  went  out  to  supper  and  left 
the  blackberry-bush  nodding  up  and  down 
in  the  wind;  and  there  it  is  nodding  yet. 


THE   FAIRIES  47 

THE    FAIRIES1 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  dare  n't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men. 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather! 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 
Some  make  their  home  — 

They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 
Of  yellow  tide-foam; 

Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  mountain-lake, 

With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs 

All  night  awake. 

• 

High  on  the  hilltop 

The  old  King  sits; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray, 

He's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 

1  By  William  Allingham. 


48       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses; 

Or  going  up  with  music 
On  cold  starry  nights, 

To  sup  with  the  Queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long; 
When  she  came  down  again 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 
They  took  her  lightly  back, 

Between  the  night  and  morrow; 
They  thought  that  she   was  fast 
asleep, 

But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow0 
They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lake, 
On  a  bed  of  flag-leaves, 

Watching  till  she  wake. 

By  the  craggy  hillside, 
Through  the  mosses  bare, 

They  have  planted  thorn-trees, 
For  pleasure  here  and  there. 

Is  any  man  so  daring 
As  dig  them  up  in  spite, 


ADVENTURES    OF  THE    FIELD   MOUSE    49 

He  shall  find  their  sharpest  thorns 
In  his  bed  at  night. 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  dare  n't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men. 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather! 

THE   ADVENTURES    OF   THE 
LITTLE    FIELD    MOUSE 

Once  upon  a  time,  there  was  a  little  brown 
Field  Mouse;  and  one  day  he  was  out  in 
the  fields  to  see  what  he  could  see.  He  was 
running  along  in  the  grass,  poking  his  nose 
into  everything  and  looking  with  his  two 
eyes  all  about,  when  he  saw  a  smooth, 
shiny  acorn,  lying  in  the  grass.  It  was  such 
a  fine  shiny  little  acorn  that  he  thought 
he  would  take  it  home  with  him ;  so  he  put 
out  his  paw  to  touch  it,  but  the  little  acorn 
rolled  away  from  him.  He  ran  after  it,  but 
ijt  kept  rolling  on,  just  ahead  of  him,  till  it 


50      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

came  to  a  place  where  a  big  oak-tree  had 
its  roots  spread  all  over  the  ground.  Then 
it  rolled  under  a  big  round  root. 

Little  Mr.  Field  Mouse  ran  to  the  root 
and  poked  his  nose  under  after  the  acorn, 
and  there  he  saw  a  small  round  hole  in 
the  ground.  He  slipped  through  and  saw 
some  stairs  going  down  into  the  earth. 
The  acorn  was  rolling  down,  with  a  soft 
tapping  sound,  ahead  of  him,  so  down  he 
went  too.  Down,  down,  down,  rolled  the 
acorn,  and  down,  down,  down,  went  the 
Field  Mouse,  until  suddenly  he  saw  a  tiny 
door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

The  shiny  acorn  rolled  to  the  door  and 
struck  against  it  with  a  tap.  Quickly  the 
little  door  opened  and  the  acorn  rolled 
inside.  The  Field  Mouse  hurried  as  fast  as 
he  could  down  the  last  stairs,  and  pushed 
through  just  as  the  door  was  closing.  It 
shut  behind  him,  and  he  was  in  a  little 
room.  And  there,  before  him,  stood  a 
queer  little  Red  Man !  He  had  a  little  red 
cap,  and  a  little  red  jacket,  and  odd  little 
red  shoes  with  points  at  the  toes. 

"You  are  my  prisoner,"  he  said  to  the 
Field  Mouse. 


ADVENTURES  OF  THE  FIELD  MOUSE    51 

"  What  for  ?9  said  the  Field  Mouse. 

"Because  \ou  tried  to  steal  my  acorn," 
said  the  little  Red  Man. 

"It  is  my  acorn,"  said  the  Field  Mouse; 
"I  found  it." 

"No,  it  is  n't,"  said  the  little  Red  Man, 
"I  have  it;    you  will  never  see  it  again." 

The  little  Field  Mouse  looked  all  about 
the  room  as  fast  as  he  could,  but  he  could 
not  see  any  acorn.  Then  he  thought  he 
would  go  back  up  the  tiny  stairs  to  his  own 
home.  But  the  little  door  was  locked,  and 
the  little  Red  Man  had  the  key.  And  he 
said  to  the  poor  mouse, — 

"You  shall  be  my  servant;  you  shall 
make  my  bed  and  sweep  my  room  and 
cook  my  broth." 

So  the  little  brown  Mouse  was  the  little 
Red  Man's  servant,  and  every  day  he  made 
the  little  Red  Man's  bed  and  swept  the 
little  Red  Man's  room  and  cooked  the  lit- 
tle Red  Man's  broth.  And  every  day  the 
little  Red  Man  went  away  through  the  tiny 
door,  and  did  not  come  back  till  afternoon. 
But  he  always  locked  the  door  after  him, 
and  carried  away  the  key. 

At  last,  one  day  he  was  in  such  a  hurry 


52       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

that  he  turned  the  key  before  the  door  was 
quite  latched,  which,  of  course,  did  n't  lock 
it  at  all.  He  went  away  without  noticing, 
—  he  was  in  such  a  hurry. 

The  little  Field  Mouse  knew  that  his 
chance  had  come  to  run  away  home.  But 
he  did  n't  want  to  go  without  the  pretty, 
shiny  acorn.  Where  it  was  he  did  n't  know, 
so  he  looked  everywhere.  He  opened  every 
little  drawer  and  looked  in,  but  it  was  n't 
in  any  of  the  drawers;  he  peeped  on  every 
shelf,  but  it  was  n't  on  a  shelf;  he  hunted 
in  every  closet,  but  it  was  n't  in  there. 
Finally,  he  climbed  up  on  a  chair  and 
opened  a  wee,  wee  door  in  the  chimney- 
piece,  —  and  there  it  was ! 

He  took  it  quickly  in  his  forepaws,  and 
then  he  took  it  in  his  mouth,  and  then  he 
ran  away.  He  pushed  open  the  little  door; 
he  climbed  up,  up,  up  the  little  stairs;  he 
came  out  through  the  hole  under  the  root; 
he  ran  and  ran  through  the  fields;  and  at 
last  he  came  to  his  own  house. 

When  he  was  in  his  own  house  he  set 
the  shiny  acorn  on  the  table.  I  guess  he 
set  it  down  hard,  for  all  at  once,  with  a  little 
snap,  it  opened !  —  exactly  like  a  little  box. 


ANOTHER   LITTLE  RED  HEN  53 

And  what  do  you  think!  There  was  a 
tiny  necklace  inside !  It  was  a  most  beauti- 
ful tiny  necklace,  all  made  of  jewels,  and 
it  was  just  big  enough  for  a  lady  mouse. 
So  the  little  Field  Mouse  gave  the  tiny 
necklace  to  his  little  Mouse-sister.  She 
thought  it  was  perfectly  lovely.  And  when 
she  was  n't  wearing  it  she  kept  it  in  the 
shiny  acorn  box. 

And  the  little  Red  Man  never  knew  what 
had  become  of  it,  because  he  did  n't  know 
where  the  little  Field  Mouse  lived. 


ANOTHER  LITTLE  RED  HEN1 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  little  Red 
Hen,  who  lived  on  a  farm  all  by  herself. 
An  old  Fox,  crafty  and  sly,  had  a  den  in  the 
rocks,  on  a  hill  near  her  house.  Many  and 
many  a  night  this  old  Fox  used  to  lie  awake 
and  think  to  himself  how  good  that  little 
Red  Hen  would  taste  if  he  could  once  get 
her  in  his  big  kettle  and  boil  her  for  dinner. 
But  he  could  n't  catch  the  little  Red  Hen, 
because  she  was  too  wise  for  him.    Every 

1  Adapted  from  the  verse  version,  which  is  given  here  as  an 
alternative. 


54       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

time  she  went  out  to  market  she  locked  the 
door  of  the  house  behind  her,  and  as  soon 
as  she  came  in  again  she  locked  the  door 
behind  her  and  put  the  key  in  her  apron 
pocket,  where  she  kept  her  scissors  and  a 
sugar  cooky. 

At  last  the  old  Fox  thought  up  a  way 
to  catch  the  little  Red  Hen.  Early  in  the 
morning  he  said  to  his  old  mother,  "Have 
the  kettle  boiling  when  I  come  home  to- 
night, for  I'll  be  bringing  the  little  Red 
Hen  for  supper."  Then  he  took  a  big  bag 
and  slung  it  over  his  shoulder,  and  walked 
till  he  came  to  the  little  Red  Hen's  house. 
The  little  Red  Hen  was  just  coming  out  of 
her  door  to  pick  up  a  few  sticks  for  kindling 
wood.  So  the  old  Fox  hid  behind  the  wood- 
pile, and  as  soon  as  she  bent  down  to  get  a 
stick,  into  the  house  he  slipped,  and  scur- 
ried behind  the  door. 

In  a  minute  the  little  Red  Hen  came 
quickly  in,  and  shut  the  door  and  locked 
it.  "I'm  glad  I'm  safely  in,"  she  said. 
Just  as  she  said  it,  she  turned  round,  and 
there  stood  the  ugly  old  Fox,  with  his  big 
bag  over  his  shoulder.  Whiff!  how  scared 
the  little  Red  Hen  was!    She  dropped  her 


ANOTHER   LITTLE   RED   HEN  55 

apronful  of  sticks,  and  flew  up  to  the  big 
beam  across  the  ceiling.  There  she  perched, 
and  she  said  to  the  old  Fox,  down  below, 
"You  may  as  well  go  home,  for  you  can't 
get  me." 

"Can't  I,  though!"  said  the  Fox.  And 
what  do  you  think  he  did?  He  stood  on 
the  floor  underneath  the  little  Red  Hen 
and  twirled  round  in  a  circle  after  his  own 
tail.  And  as  he  spun,  and  spun,  and  spun, 
faster,  and  faster,  and  faster,  the  poor  little 
Red  Hen  got  so  dizzy  watching  him  that 
she  could  n't  hold  on  to  the  perch.  She 
dropped  off,  and  the  old  Fox  picked  her  up 
and  put  her  in  his  bag,  slung  the  bag  over 
his  shoulder,  and  started  for  home,  where 
the  kettle  was  boiling. 

He  had  a  very  long  way  to  go,  up  hill, 
and  the  little  Red  Hen  was  still  so  dizzy 
that  she  did  n't  know  where  she  was.  But 
when  the  dizziness  began  to  go  off,  she 
whisked  her  little  scissors  out  of  her  apron 
pocket,  and  snip !  she  cut  a  little  hole  in  the 
bag;  then  she  poked  her  head  out  and  saw 
where  she  was,  and  as  soon  as  they  came 
to  a  good  spot  she  cut  the  hole  bigger  and 
jumped  out  herself.  There  was  a  great  big 


56       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

stone  lying  there,  and  the  little  Red  Hen 
picked  it  up  and  put  it  in  the  bag  as  quick 
as  a  wink.  Then  she  ran  as  fast  as  she 
could  till  she  came  to  her  own  little  farm- 
house, and  she  went  in  and  locked  the  door 
with  the  big  key. 

The  old  Fox  went  on  carrying  the  stone 
and  never  knew  the  difference.  My,  but  it 
bumped  him  well !  He  was  pretty  tired 
when  he  got  home.  But  he  was  so  pleased 
to  think  of  the  supper  he  was  going  to  have 
that  he  did  not  mind  that  at  all.  As  soon 
as  his  mother  opened  the  door  he  said,  "Is 
the  kettle  boiling?" 

"Yes,"  said  his  mother;  "have  you  got 
the  little  Red  Hen?" 

"I  have,"  said  the  old  Fox.  "When  I 
open  the  bag  you  hold  the  cover  off  the  ket- 
tle and  I'll  shake  the  bag  so  that  the  Hen 
will  fall  in,  and  then  you  pop  the  cover  on, 
before  she  can  jump  out." 

"All  right,"  said  his  mean  old  mother; 
and  she  stood  close  by  the  boiling  kettle, 
ready  to  put  the  cover  on. 

The  Fox  lifted  the  big,  heavy  bag  up 
till  it  was  over  the  open  kettle,  and  gave 
it    a    shake.    Splash!   thump!    splash!    In 


STORY  OF  THE  LITTLE  RID  HIN       51 

went  the  stone  and  out  came  the  boiling 
water,  all  over  the  old  Fox  and  the  old 
Fox's  mother! 

And  they  were  scalded  to  death. 

But  the  little  Red  Hen  lived  happily  ever 
after,  in  her  own  little  farmhouse. 


THE    STORY   OF   THE    LITTLE 
RID    HIN1 

There  was  once't  upon  a  time 

A  little  small  Rid  Hin, 
Off  in  the  good  ould  country 

Where  yees  ha'  nivir  bin. 

Nice  and  quiet  shure  she  was, 
And  nivir  did  any  harrum; 

She  lived  alane  all  be  herself, 
And  worked  upon  her  farrum. 

There  lived  out  o'er  the  hill, 

In  a  great  din  o'  rocks, 
A  crafty,  shly,  and  wicked 

Ould  folly  iv  a  Fox. 

1  From  Horace  E.  Scudder's  Doings  of  the  Bodley  Family  in 
Town  and  Country  (Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.). 


58       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

This  rashkill  iv  a  Fox, 

He  tuk  it  in  his  head 
He'd  have  the  little  Rid  Hin: 

So,  whin  he  wint  to  bed, 

He  laid  awake  and  thaught 
What  a  foine  thing  'twad  be 

To  fetch  her  home  and  bile  her  up 
For  his  ould  marm  and  he. 

And  so  he  thaught  and  thaught, 

Until  he  grew  so  thin 
That  there  was  nothin'  left  of  him 

But  jist  his  bones  and  shkin. 

But  the  small  Rid  Hin  was  wise, 
She  always  locked  her  door, 

And  in  her  pocket  pit  the  key, 
To  keep  the  Fox  out  shure. 

But  at  last  there  came  a  schame 

Intil  his  wicked  head, 
And  he  tuk  a  great  big  bag 

And  to  his  mither  said,  — 

''Now  have  the  pot  all  bilin' 
Agin  the  time  I  come; 


STORY  OF  THE  LITTLE  RID  HIN       5d 

We'll  ate  the  small  Rid  Hin  to-night, 
For  shure  I'll  bring  her  home." 

And  so  away  he  wint 
Wid  the  bag  upon  his  back, 

An'  up  the  hill  and  through  the  woods 
Saftly  he  made  his  track. 

An'  thin  he  came  alang, 
Craping  as  shtill's  a  mouse, 

To  where  the  little  small  Rid  Hin 
Lived  in  her  shnug  ould  house. 

An'  out  she  comes  hersel', 

Jist  as  he  got  in  sight, 
To  pick  up  shticks  to  make  her  fire: 
"Aha!"  says  Fox,  "all  right. 

'Begorra,  now,  I'll  have  yees 
Widout  much  throuble  more;" 

An'  in  he  shlips  quite  unbeknownst, 
An'  hides  be'ind  the  door. 

An'  thin,  a  minute  afther, 
In  comes  the  small  Rid  Hin, 

An'  shuts  the  door,  and  locks  it,  too, 
An'  thinks,  "I'm  safely  in." 


60       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

An'  thin  she  tarns  around 

An'  looks  be'ind  the  door; 
There  shtands  the  Fox  wid  his  big  tail 

Shpread  out  upon  the  floor. 

Dear  me!  she  was  so  schared 
Wid  such  a  wondrous  sight, 

She  dropped  her  apronful  of  shticks, 
An'  flew  up  in  a  fright, 

An'  lighted  on  the  bame 

Across  on  top  the  room ; 
"Aha!"  says  she,  "ye  don't  have  me; 
Ye  may  as  well  go  home." 

"Aha!"  says  Fox,  "we'll  see; 

I'll  bring  yees  down  from  that." 
So  out  he  marched  upon  the  floor 
Right  under  where  she  sat. 

An'  thin  he  whiruled  around, 
An'  round  an'  round  an'  round, 

Fashter  an'  fashter  an'  fashter, 
Afther  his  tail  on  the  ground. 

Until  the  small  Rid  Hin 
She  got  so  dizzy,  shure, 


STORY  OF  THE  LITTLE  RID  HIN       61 

Wid  lookin'  at  the  Fox's  tail, 
She  jist  dropped  on  the  floor. 

An'  Fox  he  whipped  her  up, 

An'  pit  her  in  his  bag, 
An'  off  he  started  all  alone, 

Him  and  his  little  dag. 

All  day  he  tracked  the  wood 

Up  hill  an'  down  again; 
An'  wid  him,  shmotherin'  in  the  bag, 

The  little  small  Rid  Hin. 

Sorra  a  know  she  knowed 

Awhere  she  was  that  day; 
Says  she,  "I'm  biled  an'  ate  up,  shure. 

An'  what '11  be  to  pay?" 

Thin  she  betho't  herseP, 

An'  tuk  her  schissors  out, 
An'  shnipped  a  big  hole  in  the  bag, 

So  she  could  look  about. 

An'  'fore  ould  Fox  could  think 
She  lept  right  out  —  she  did, 

An'  thin  picked  up  a  great  big  shtone, 
An'  popped  it  in  instid. 


62       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

An'  thin  she  rins  off  home, 

Her  outside  door  she  locks; 
Thinks  she,  "You  see  you  don't  have  me, 

You  crafty,  shly  ould  Fox." 

An'  Fox,  he  tugged  away 
Wid  the  great  big  hivy  shtone, 

Thimpin'  his  shoulders  very  bad 
As  he  wint  in  alone. 

An'  whin  he  came  in  sight 

O'  his  great  din  o'  rocks, 
Jist  watchin'  for  him  at  the  door 

He  shpied  ould  mither  Fox. 

"Have  ye  the  pot  a-bilin'?" 
Says  he  to  ould  Fox  thin; 
"Shure  an'  it  is,  me  child,"  says  she; 
"Have  ye  the  small  Rid  Hin?" 

"Yes,  jist  here  in  me  bag, 

As  shure  as  I  shtand  here; 
Open  the  lid  till  I  pit  her  in: 

Open  it  —  niver  fear." 

So  the  rashkill  cut  the  sthring, 
An'  hild  the  big  bag  over; 


EPAMINONDAS  AND   HIS  AUNTIE        tt 

"Now»  when  I  shake  it  in,"  says  he, 
"Do  ye  pit  on  the  cover.' ' 

"Yis,  that  I  will;"  an'  thin 

The  shtone  wint  in  wid  a  dash, 
An'  the  pot  o'  bilin'  wather 
Came  over  them  ker-splash. 

An'  schalted  'em  both  to  death, 
So  thev  could  n't  brathe  no  more; 

An'  the  little  small  Rid  Hin  lived  safe, 
Jist  where  she  lived  before. 


THE    STORY    OF    EPAMINONDAS 
AND  HIS  AUNTIE1 

Epaminondas  used  to  go  to  see  his  Auntie 
'most  every  day,  and  she  nearly  always 
gave  him  something  to  take  home  to  his 
Mammy. 

One  day  she  gave  him  a  big  piece  of  cake; 
nice,  yellow,  rich  gold-cake. 

Epaminondas  took  it  in  his  fist  and  held 
it  all  scrunched  up  tight,  like  this,  and 
came  along  home.  By  the  time  he  got  home 

1  A  Southern  nonsense  tale. 


64       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

there  was  n't  anything  left  but  a  fistful  of 
crumbs.    His  Mammy  said, — 

"What  you  got  there,  Epaminc/ndas ? " 

"Cake,  Mammy,"  said  Epaminondas. 

" Cake IV  said  his  Mammy.  "Epaminon- 
das, you  ain't  got  the  sense  you  was  born 
with!  That's  no  way  to  carry  cake.  The 
way  to  carry  cake  is  to  wrap  it  ail  up  nice 
in  some  leaves  and  put  it  in  your  hat,  and 
put  your  hat  on  your  head,  and  come  along 
home.    You  hear  me,  Epaminondas?" 

"Yes,  Mammy,"  said  Epaminondas. 

Next  day  Epaminondas  went  to  see  his 
Auntie,  and  she  gave  him  a  pound  of 
butter  for  his  Mammy;  fine,  fresh,  sweet 
butter. 

Epaminondas  wrapped  it  up  in  leaves 
and  put  it  in  his  hat,  and  put  his  hat  on  his 
head,  and  came  along  home.  It  was  a  very 
hot  day.  Pretty  soon  the  butter  began  to 
melt.  It  melted,  and  melted,  and  as  it 
melted  it  ran  down  Epaminondas'  fore- 
head ;  then  it  ran  over  his  face,  and  in  his 
ears,  and  down  his  neck.  When  he  got 
home,  all  the  butter  Epaminondas  had  was 
on  him.  His  Mammy  looked  at  him,  and 
then  she  said, — 


EPAMINONDAS  AND   HIS  AUNTIE        65 

"Law's  sake!  Epaminondas,  what  you 
got  in  your  hat?" 

"Butter,  Mammy,"  said  Epaminondas; 
"Auntie  gave  it  to  me." 

"Butter!"  said  his  Mammy.  "Epami- 
nondas, you  ain't  got  the  sense  you  was 
born  with!  Don't  you  know  that's  no  way 
to  carry  butter?  The  way  to  carry  butter 
is  to  wrap  it  up  in  some  leaves  and  take 
it  down  to  the  brook,  and  cool  it  in  the 
water,  and  cool  it  in  the  water,  and  cool 
it  in  the  water,  and  then  take  it  on 
your  hands,  careful,  and  bring  it  along 
home." 

"Yes,  Mammy,"  said  Epaminondas. 

By  and  by,  another  day,  Epaminondas 
went  to  see  his  Auntie  again,  and  this  time 
she  gave  him  a  little  new  puppy-dog  to 
take  home. 

Epaminondas  put  it  in  some  leaves  and 
took  it  down  to  the  brook;  and  there  he 
cooled  it  in  the  water,  and  cooled  it  in  the 
water,  and  cooled  it  in  the  water;  then  he 
took  it  in  his  hands  and  came  along  home. 
When  he  got  home,  the  puppy-dog  was 
dead.  His  Mammy  looked  at  it,  and  she 
said, — 


66       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

"Law's  sake!  Epaminondas,  what  you 
got  there?" 

"A  puppy-dog,  Mammy,"  said  Epami- 
nondas. 

"A  puppy-dog!"  said  his  Mammy.  "My 
gracious  sakes  alive,  Epaminondas,  you 
ain't  got  the  sense  you  was  born  with! 
That  ain't  the  way  to  carry  a  puppy-dog! 
The  way  to  carry  a  puppy-dog  is  to  take  a 
long  piece  of  string  and  tie  one  end  of  it 
round  the  puppy-dog's  neck  and  put  the 
puppy-dog  on  the  ground,  and  take  hold 
of  the  other  end  of  the  string  and  come 
along  home,  like  this." 

"All  right,  Mammy,"  said  Epaminondas. 

Next  day,  Epaminondas  went  to  see  his 
Auntie  again,  and  when  he  came  to  go 
home  she  gave  him  a  loaf  of  bread  to  carry 
to  his  Mammy;  a  brown,  fresh,  crusty  loaf 
of  bread. 

So  Epaminondas  tied  a  string  around  the 
end  of  the  loaf  and  took  hold  of  the  end  of 
the  string  and  came  along  home,  like  this. 
(Imitate  dragging  something  along  the 
ground.)  When  he  got  home  his  Mammy 
looked  at  the  thing  on  the  end  of  the  string, 
and  she  said, — 


EPAMINONDAS  AND  HIS  AUNTIE        67 

"My  laws  a-massy!  Epaminondas,  what 
you  got  on  the  end  of  that  string?" 

"Bread,  Mammy,"  said  Epaminondas; 
"Auntie  gave  it  to  me." 

"Bread!!!"  said  his  Mammy.  "O  Epam- 
inondas, Epaminondas,  you  ain't  got  the 
sense  you  was  born  with;  you  never  did 
have  the  sense  you  was  born  with;  you 
never  will  have  the  sense  you  was  born 
with !  Now  I  ain't  gwine  tell  you  any  more 
ways  to  bring  truck  home.  And  don't  you 
go  see  your  Auntie,  neither.  I'll  go  see 
her  my  own  self.  But  I'll  just  tell  you  one 
thing,  Epaminondas!  You  see  these  here 
six  mince  pies  I  done  make  ?  You  see  how 
I  done  set  'em  on  the  doorstep  to  cool? 
Well,  now,  you  hear  me,  Epaminondas, 
you  be  careful  how  you  step  on  those  pies!" 

"Yes,  Mammy,"  said  Epaminondas. 

Then  Epaminondas'  Mammy  put  on 
her  bonnet  and  her  shawl  and  took  a  bas- 
ket in  her  hand  and  went  away  to  see 
Auntie.  The  six  mince  pies  sat  cooling  in 
a  row  on  the  doorstep. 

And  then,  —  and  then,  —  Epaminon- 
das was  careful  how  he  stepped  on  those 
pies! 


68       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 


He    stepped    (imitate)  —  right  —  in  — 
the  —  middle  —  of  —  every  —  one. 

And,  do  you  know,  children,  nobody  knows 
what  happened  next !  The  person  who  told 
me  the  story  did  n't  know;  nobody  knows. 
But  you  can  guess.  . 


THE  BOY  WHO   CRIED   "WOLF!" 

There  was  once  a  shepherd-boy  who 
kept  his  flock  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
village.  Once  he  thought  he  would  play  a 
trick  on  the  villagers  and  have  some  fun 
at  their  expense.  So  he  ran  toward  the 
village  crying  out,  with  all  his  might,  — 

"Wolf!  Wolf!  Come  and  help!  The 
wolves  are  at  my  lambs!" 

The  kind  villagers  left  their  work  and 
ran  to  the  field  to  help  him.  But  when 
they  got  there  the  boy  laughed  at  them 
for  their  pains;  there  was  no  wolf  there. 

Still  another  day  the  boy  tried  the  same 
trick,  and  the  villagers  came  running  to 
help  and  got  laughed  at  again. 

Then  one  day  a  wolf  did  break  into  the 


THE  FROG   KING  69 

fold  and  began  killing  the  lambs.  In  great 
fright,  the  boy  ran  for  help.  "Wolf!  Wolf!" 
he  screamed.  "There  is  a  wolf  in  the  flock! 
Help!" 

The  villagers  heard  him,  but  they  thought 
it  was  another  mean  trick ;  no  one  paid  the 
least  attention,  or  went  near  him.  And  the 
shepherd-boy  lost  all  his  sheep. 

That  is  the  kind  of  thing  that  happens 
to  people  who  lie:  even  when  they  tell  the 
truth  no  one  believes  them. 


THE  FROG  KING 

Did  you  ever  hear  the  old  story  about 
the  foolish  Frogs  ?  The  Frogs  in  a  certain 
swamp  decided  that  they  needed  a  king; 
they  had  always  got  along  perfectly  well 
without  one,  but  they  suddenly  made  up 
their  minds  that  a  king  they  must  have. 
They  sent  a  messenger  to  Jove  and  begged 
him  to  send  a  king  to  rule  over  them. 

Jove  saw  how  stupid  they  were,  and  sent 
a  king  who  could  not  harm  them :  he  tossed 
a  big  log  into  the  middle  of  the  pond. 

At  the  splash  the  Frogs  were  terribly 


70      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

frightened,  and  dove  into  their  holes  to 
hide  from  King  Log.  But  after  a  while, 
when  they  saw  that  the  king  never  moved, 
they  got  over  their  fright  and  went  and 
sat  on  him.  And  as  soon  as  they  found  he 
really  could  not  hurt  them  they  began  to 
despise  him;  and  finally  they  sent  another 
messenger  to  Jove  to  ask  for  a  new  king. 

Jove  sent  an  eel. 

The  Frogs  were  much  pleased  and  a 
good  deal  frightened  when  King  Eel  came 
wriggling  and  swimming  among  them.  But 
as  the  days  went  on,  and  the  eel  was  per- 
fectly harmless,  they  stopped  being  afraid; 
and  as  soon  as  they  stopped  fearing  King 
Eel  they  stopped  respecting  him. 

Soon  they  sent  a  third  messenger  to 
Jove,  and  begged  that  they  might  have  a 
better  king,  —  a  king  who  was  worth 
while. 

It  was  too  much ;  Jove  was  angry  at  their 
stupidity  at  last.  "I  will  give  you  a  king 
such  as  you  deserve!"  he  said;  and  he 
sent  them  a  Stork. 

As  soon  as  the  Frogs  came  to  the  surface 
to  greet  the  new  king,  King  Stork  caught 
them  in  his  long  bill  and  gobbled  them  up. 


THE  SUN  AND  THE  WIND  71 

One  after  another  they  came  bobbing  up, 
and  one  after  another  the  stork  ate  them. 
He  was  indeed  a  king  worthy  of  them! 


THE  SUN  AND  THE  WIND 

The  Sun  and  the  Wind  once  had  a  quar- 
rel as  to  which  was  the  stronger.  Each 
believed  himself  to  be  the  more  powerful. 
While  they  were  arguing  they  saw  a  trav- 
eler walking  along  the  country  highway, 
wearing  a  great  cloak. 

"Here  is  a  chance  to  test  our  strength," 
said  the  Wind;  "let  us  see  which  of  us  is 
strong  enough  to  make  that  traveler  take 
off  his  cloak;  the  one  who  can  do  that  shall 
be  acknowledged  the  more  powerful." 

"Agreed,"  said  the  Sun. 

Instantly  the  Wind  began  to  blow;  he 
puffed  and  tugged  at  the  man's  cloak,  and 
raised  a  storm  of  hail  and  rain,  to  beat  at 
it.  But  the  colder  it  grew  and  the  more  it 
stormed,  the  tighter  the  traveler  held  his 
cloak  around  him.  The  Wind  could  not 
get  it  off. 

Now  it  was  the  Sun's  turn.    He  shone 


72       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

with  all  his  beams  on  the  man's  shoulders. 
As  it  grew  hotter  and  hotter,  the  man  un- 
fastened his  cloak;  then  he  threw  it  back; 
at  last  he  took  it  off!   The  Sun  had  won. 

THE   LITTLE    JACKAL   AND    THE 
ALLIGATOR 

The  little  Jackal  was  very  fond  of  shell- 
fish. He  used  to  go  down  by  the  river  and 
hunt  along  the  edges  for  crabs  and  such 
things.  And  once,  when  he  was  hunting 
for  crabs,  he  was  so  hungry  that  he  put  his 
paw  into  the  water  after  a  crab  without 
looking  first,  —  which  you  never  should 
do!  The  minute  he  put  in  his  paw,  snap! 
— the  big  Alligator  who  lives  in  the  mud 
down  there  had  it  in  his  jaws. 

"Oh,  dear!"  thought  the  little  Jackal; 
"the  big  Alligator  has  my  paw  in  his 
mouth !  In  another  minute  he  will  pull  me 
down  and  gobble  me  up!  What  shall  I 
do?  what  shall  I  do?"  Then  he  thought, 
suddenly,  "I'll  deceive  him!" 

So  he  put  on  a  very  cheerful  voice,  as  if 
nothing  at  all  were  the  matter,  and  he 
said, — 


THE    JACKAL  AND  THE  ALLIGATOR    73 

"Ho!  ho!  Clever  Mr.  Alligator!  Smart 
Mr.  Alligator,  to  take  that  old  bulrush 
root  for  my  paw!  I'll  hope  you'll  find  it 
very  tender!" 

The  old  Alligator  was  hidden  away 
beneath  the  mud  and  bulrush  leaves,  and 
he  could  n't  see  anything.  He  thought, 
"Pshaw!  I've  made  a  mistake."  So  he 
opened  his  mouth  and  let  the  little  Jackal 

go. 

The  little  Jackal  ran  away  as  fast  as  he 
could,  and  as  he  ran  he  called  out,  — 

"Thank  you,  Mr;  Alligator!  Kind  Mr. 
Alligator!  So  kind  of  you  to  let  me  go!" 

The  old  Alligator  lashed  with  his  tail 
and  snapped  with  his  jaws,  but  it  was 
too  late;  the  little  Jackal  was  out  of 
reach. 

After  this  the  little  Jackal  kept  away 
from  the  river,  out  of  danger.  But  after 
about  a  week  he  got  such  an  appetite  for 
crabs  that  nothing  else  would  do  at  all; 
he  felt  that  he  must  have  a  crab.  So  he 
went  down  by  the  river  and  looked  all 
around,  very  carefully.  He  did  n't  see  the 
old  Alligator,  but  he  thought  to  himself, 
"I  think  I'll  not  take  any  chances."    So 


74       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

he  stood  still  and  began  to  talk  out  loud 
to  himself.   He  said, — 

"When  I  don't  see  any  little  crabs  on 
the  land  I  most  generally  see  them  stick- 
ing out  of  the  water,  and  then  I  put  my 
paw  in  and  catch  them.  I  wonder  if  there 
are  any  fat  little  crabs  in  the  water  to- 
day?" 

The  old  Alligator  was  hidden  down  in 
the  mud  at  the  bottom  of  the  river,  and 
when  he  heard  what  the  little  Jackal  said, 
he  thought,  "Aha!  I'll  pretend  to  be  a 
little  crab,  and  when  he  puts  his  paw  in, 
I'll  make  my  dinner  of  him."  So  he  stuck 
the  black  end  of  his  snout  above  the  water 
and  waited. 

The  little  Jackal  took  one  look,  and 
then  he  said, — 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Alligator!  Kind  Mr. 
Alligator!  You  are  exceedingly  kind  to 
show  me  where  you  are!  I  will  have  din- 
ner elsewhere."  And  he  ran  away  like  the 
wind. 

The  old  Alligator  foamed  at  the  mouth, 
he  was  so  angry,  but  the  little  Jackal  was 
gone. 

For  two  whole  weeks  the  little  Jackal 


THE    JACKAL  AND  THE  ALLIGATOR    U 

kept  away  from  the  river.  Then,  one  day 
he  got  a  feeling  inside  him  that  nothing 
but  crabs  could  satisfy;  he  felt  that  he 
must  have  at  least  one  crab.  Very  cau- 
tiously, he  went  down  to  the  river  and 
looked  all  around.  He  saw  no  sign  of  the 
old  Alligator.  Still,  he  did  not  mean  to 
take  any  chances.  So  he  stood  quite  still 
and  began  to  talk  to  himself,  —  it  was 
a  little  way  he  had.   He  said, — 

"When  I  don't  see  any  little  crabs  on 
the  shore,  or  sticking  up  out  of  the  water, 
I  usually  see  them  blowing  bubbles  from 
under  the  water;  the  little  bubbles  go  puff, 
puff,  puff,  and  then  they  go  pop,  pop,  pop, 
and  they  show  me  where  the  little  juicy 
crabs  are,  so  I  can  put  my  paw  in  and 
catch  them.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  see  any 
little  bubbles  to-day?" 

The  old  Alligator,  lying  low  in  the  mud 
and  weeds,  heard  this,  and  he  thought, 
"Pooh!  That's  easy  enough;  I'll  just 
blow  some  little  crab-bubbles,  and  then 
he  will  put  his  paw  in  where  I  can  get  it." 

So  he  blew,  and  he  blew,  a  mighty  blast, 
and  the  bubbles  rose  in  a  perfect  whirl- 
pool, fizzing  and  swirling. 


76       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

The  little  Jackal  did  n't  have  to  be  told 
who  was  underneath  those  bubbles:  he 
took  one  quick  look,  and  off  he  ran.  But 
as  he  went,  he  sang, — 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Alligator!  Kind  Mr. 
Alligator!  You  are  the  kindest  Alligator 
in  the  world,  to  show  me  where  you  are,  so 
nicely!  I'll  breakfast  at  another  part  of 
the  river." 

The  old  Alligator  was  so  furious  that  he 
crawled  up  on  the  bank  and  went  after 
the  little  Jackal;  but,  dear,  dear,  he 
could  n't  catch  the  little  Jackal ;  he  ran 
far  too  fast. 

After  this,  the  little  Jackal  did  not  like  to 
risk  going  near  the  water,  so  he  ate  no  more 
crabs.  But  he  found  a  garden  of  wild  figs, 
which  were  so  good  that  he  went  there  every 
day,  and  ate  them  instead  of  shell-fish. 

Now  the  old  Alligator  found  this  out, 
and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  have  the  little 
Jackal  for  supper,  or  to  die  trying.  So 
he  crept,  and  crawled,  and  dragged  himself 
over  the  ground  to  the  garden  of  wild  figs. 
There  he  made  a  huge  pile  of  figs  under 
the  biggest  of  the  wild  fig  trees,  and  hid 
himself  in  the  pile. 


THE    JACKAL   AND   THE   ALLIGATOR     77 

After  a  while  the  little  Jackal  came 
dancing  into  the  garden,  very  happy  and 
care-free,  —  but  looking  all  around.  He 
saw  the  huge  pile  of  figs  under  the  big  fig 
tree. 

"H-m,"  he  thought,  "that  looks  singu- 
larly like  my  friend,  the  Alligator.  I'll  in- 
vestigate a  bit." 

He  stood  quite  still  and  began  to  talk 
to  himself,  —  it  was  a  little  way  he  had.  He 
said,  — 

"The  little  figs  I  like  best  are  the  fat, 
ripe,  juicy  ones  that  drop  off  when  the 
breeze  blows;  and  then  the  wind  blows 
them  about  on  the  ground,  this  way  and 
that;  the  great  heap  of  figs  over  there  is 
so  still  that  I  think  they  must  be  all  bad 
figs." 

The  old  Alligator,  underneath  his  fig 
pile,  thought,  — 

"Bother  the  suspicious  little  Jackah 
I  shall  have  to  make  these  figs  roll  about, 
so  that  he  will  think  the  wind  moves 
them."  And  straightway  he  humped  him- 
self up  and  moved,  and  sent  the  little  figs 
flying,  —  and  his  back  showed  through. 

The  little    Jackal    did  not    wait  for  a 


18      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

second  look.  He  ran  out  of  the  garden 
like  the  wind.  But  as  he  ran  he  called 
back, — 

"Thank  you,  again,  Mr.  Alligator;  very 
sweet  of  you  to  show  me  where  you  are;  I 
can't  stay  to  thank  you  as  I  should  like : 
good-by!" 

At  this  the  old  Alligator  was  beside 
himself  with  rage.  He  vowed  that  he 
would  have  the  little  Jackal  for  supper 
this  time,  come  what  might.  So  he  crept 
and  crawled  over  the  ground  till  he  came 
to  the  little  Jackal's  house.  Then  he  crept 
and  crawled  inside,  and  hid  himself  there 
in  the  house,  to  wait  till  the  little  Jackal 
should  come  home. 

By  and  by  the  little  Jackal  came  dan- 
cing home,  happy  and  care-free,  —  but 
looking  all  around.  Presently,  as  he  came 
along,  he  saw  that  the  ground  was  all 
scratched  up  as  if  something  very  heavy 
had  been  dragged  over  it.  The  little  Jackal 
stopped  and  looked. 

"What's  this  ?  what's  this  ?"  he  said. 

Then  he  saw  that  the  door  of  his  house 
was  crushed  at  the  sides  and  broken,  as 
if  something  very  big  had  gone  through  it. 


THE    JACKAL   AND   THE   ALLIGATOR    79 

"What's  this?  What's  this?"  the  little 
Jackal  said.  "I  think  I'll  investigate  a 
little!" 

So  he  stood  quite  still  and  began  to  talk 
to  himself  (you  remember,  it  was  a  little 
way  he  had),  but  loudly.  He  said,  — 

"How  strange  that  my  little  House 
does  n't  speak  to  me !  Why  don't  you 
speak  to  me,  little  House?  You  always 
speak  to  me,  if  everything  is  all  right, 
when  I  come  home.  I  wonder  if  anything 
is  wrong  with  my  little  House  ?" 

The  old  Alligator  thought  to  himself 
that  he  must  certainly  pretend  to  be  the 
little  House,  or  the  little  Jackal  would 
never  come  in.  So  he  put  on  as  pleasant 
a  voice  as  he  could  (which  is  not  saying 
much)  and  said,  — 

"Hullo,  little  Jackal!" 

Oh!  when  the  little  Jackal  heard  that, 
he  was  frightened  enough,  for  once. 

"It's  the  old  Alligator,"  he  said,  "and 
if  I  don't  make  an  end  of  him  this  time  he 
will  certainly  make  an  end  of  me.  What 
shall  I  do?" 

He  thought  very  fast.  Then  he  spoke 
out  pleasantly. 


80       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

"Thank  you,  little  House,"  he  said, 
"it's  good  to  hear  your  pretty  voice,  dear 
little  House,  and  I  will  be  in  with  you  in  a 
minute;  only  first  I  must  gather  some 
firewood  for  dinner." 

Then  he  went  and  gathered  firewood, 
and  more  firewood,  and  more  firewood; 
and  he  piled  it  all  up  solid  against  the  door 
and  round  the  house;  and  then  he  set  fire 
to  it! 

And  it  smoked  and  burned  till  it  smoked 
that  old  Alligator  to  smoked  herring! 


THE  LARKS  IN  THE  CORNFIELD 

There  was  once  a  family  of  little  Larks 
who  lived  with  their  mother  in  a  nest  in  a 
cornfield.  When  the  corn  was  ripe  the 
mother  Lark  watched  very  carefully  to  see 
if  there  were  any  sign  of  the  reapers'  com- 
ing, for  she  knew  that  when  they  came 
their  sharp  knives  would  cut  down  the 
nest  and  hurt  the  baby  Larks.  So  every 
day,  when  she  went  out  for  food,  she  told 
the  little  Larks  to  look  and  listen  very 
closely  to  everything  that  went  on,  and  to 


THE  LARKS  IN  THE  CORNFIELD        81 

tell  her  all  they  saw  and  heard  when  she 
came  home. 

One  day  when  she  came  home  the  little 
Larks  were  much  frightened. 

"  Oh,  Mother,  dear  Mother,"  they  said, 
"you  must  move  us  away  to-night!  The 
farmer  was  in  the  field  to-day,  and  he  said, 
'The  corn  is  ready  to  cut;  we  must  call  in 
the  neighbors  to  help.'  And  then  he  told  his 
son  to  go  out  to-night  and  ask  all  the  neigh- 
bors to  come  and  reap  the  corn  to-morrow.' ' 

The  mother  Lark  laughed.  "Don't  be 
frightened,"  she  said;  "if  he  waits  for  his 
neighbors  to  reap  the  corn  we  shall  have 
plenty  of  time  to  move;  tell  me  what  he 
says  to-morrow." 

The  next  night  the  little  Larks  were  quite 
trembling  with  fear;  the  moment  their 
mother  got  home  they  cried  out,  "Mother, 
you  must  surely  move  us  to-night!  The 
farmer  came  to-day  and  said,  'The  corn 
is  getting  too  ripe;  we  cannot  wait  for  our 
neighbors;  we  must  ask  our  relatives  to 
help  us.'  And  then  he  called  his  son  and 
told  him  to  ask  all  the  uncles  and  cousins 
to  come  to-morrow  and  cut  the  corn.  Shall 
we  not  move  to-night?" 


m       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

"Don't  worry,"  said  the  mother  Lark; 
"the  uncles  and  cousins  have  plenty  of 
reaping  to  do  for  themselves;  we'll  not 
move  yet." 

The  third  night,  when  the  mother  Lark 
came  home,  the  baby  Larks  said,  "Mother, 
dear,  the  farmer  came  to  the  field  to-day, 
and  when  he  looked  at  the  corn  he  was 
quite  angry;  he  said,  'This  will  never  do! 
The  corn  is  getting  too  ripe;  it's  no  use  to 
wait  for  our  relatives,  we  shall  have  to  cut 
this  corn  ourselves.'  And  then  he  called 
his  son  and  said,  'Go  out  to-night  and 
hire  reapers,  and  to-morrow  we  will  begin 
to  cut.'" 

"Well,"  said  the  mother,  "that  is  an- 
other story;  when  a  man  begins  to  do  his 
own  business,  instead  of  asking  some- 
body else  to  do  it,  things  get  done.  I  will 
move  you  out  to-night." 


A   TRUE   STORY  ABOUT  A   GIRL 

Once  there  were  four  little  girls  who 
lived  in  a  big,  bare  house,  in  the  country. 
They  were  very  poor,  but  they  had  the  hap- 


A  TRUE  STORY  ABOUT  A   GIRL         83 

piest  times  you  ever  heard  of,  because  they 
were  very  rich  in  everything  except  just 
money.  They  had  a  wonderful,  wise  father, 
who  knew  stories  to  tell,  and  who  taught 
them  their  lessons  in  such  a  beautiful  way 
that  it  was  better  than  play;  they  had  a 
lovely,  merry,  kind  mother,  who  was  never 
too  tired  to  help  them  work  or  watch  them 
play;  and  they  had  all  the  great  green 
country  to  play  in.  There  were  dark, 
shadowy  woods,  and  fields  of  flowers,  and 
a  river.  And  there  was  a  big  barn. 

One  of  the  little  girls  was  named  Louisa. 
She  was  very  pretty,  and  ever  so  strong; 
she  could  run  for  miles  through  the  woods 
and  not  get  tired.  And  she  had  a  splendid 
brain  in  her  little  head;  it  liked  study,  and 
it  thought  interesting  thoughts  all  day  long. 

Louisa  liked  to  sit  in  a  corner  by  her- 
self, sometimes,  and  write  thoughts  in  her 
diary;  all  the  little  girls  kept  diaries.  She 
liked  to  make  up  stories  out  of  her  own 
head,  and  sometimes  she  made  verses. 

When  the  four  little  sisters  had  finished 
their  lessons,  and  had  helped  their  mother 
sew  and  clean,  they  used  to  go  to  the  big 
barn  to  play;  and  the  best  play  of  all  was 


84       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

theatricals.  Louisa  liked  theatricals  better 
than  anything. 

They  made  the  barn  into  a  theatre,  and 
the  grown  people  came  to  see  the  plays  they 
acted.  They  used  to  climb  up  on  the  hay- 
mow for  a  stage,  and  the  grown  people 
sat  in  chairs  on  the  floor.  It  was  great  fun. 
One  of  the  plays  they  acted  was  Jack  and 
the  Bean-Stalk.  They  had  a  ladder  from 
the  floor  to  the  loft,  and  on  the  ladder  they 
tied  a  squash  vine  all  the  way  up  to  the 
loft,  to  look  like  the  wonderful  bean-stalk. 
One  of  the  little  girls  was  dressed  up  to 
look  like  Jack,  and  she  acted  that  part. 
When  it  came  to  the  place  in  the  story 
where  the  giant  tried  to  follow  Jack,  the 
little  girl  cut  down  the  bean-stalk,  and 
down  came  the  giant  tumbling  from  the 
loft.  The  giant  was  made  out  of  pillows, 
with  a  great,  fierce  head  of  paper,  and 
funny  clothes. 

Another  story  that  they  acted  was  Cin- 
derella. They  made  a  wonderful  big  pump- 
kin out  of  the  wheelbarrow,  trimmed  with 
yellow  paper,  and  Cinderella  rolled  away 
in  it,  when  the  fairy  godmother  waved  her 
wand. 


A  TRUE  STORY  ABOUT  A  GIRL         85 

One  other  beautiful  story  they  used  to 
play.  It  was  the  story  of  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress ;  if  you  have  never  heard  it,  you  must 
be  sure  to  read  it  as  soon  as  you  can  read 
well  enough  to  understand  the  old-fash- 
ioned words.  The  little  girls  used  to  put 
shells  in  their  hats  for  a  sign  they  were  on 
a  pilgrimage,  as  the  old  pilgrims  used  to 
do;  then  they  made  journeys  over  the  hill 
behind  the  house,  and  through  the  woods, 
and  down  the  lanes ;  and  when  the  pilgrim- 
age was  over  they  had  apples  and  nuts  to 
eat,  in  the  happy  land  of  home. 

Louisa  loved  all  these  plays,  and  she 
made  some  of  her  own  and  wrote  them 
down  so  that  the  children  could  act  them. 

But  better  than  fun  or  writing  Louisa 
loved  her  mother,  and  by  and  by,  as  the 
little  girl  began  to  grow  into  a  big  girl,  she 
felt  very  sad  to  see  her  dear  mother  work 
so  hard.  She  helped  all  she  could  with  the 
housework,  but  nothing  could  really  help 
the  tired  mother  except  money;  she  needed 
money  for  food  and  clothes,  and  some  one 
grown  up,  to  help  in  the  house.  But  there 
never  was  enough  money  for  these  things, 
and  Louisa's  mother  grew  more  and  more 


86       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

weary,  and  sometimes  ill.  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  much  Louisa  suffered  over  this. 

At  last,  as  Louisa  thought  about  it, 
she  came  to  care  more  about  helping  her 
mother  and  her  father  and  her  sisters 
than  about  anything  else  in  all  the  world. 
And  she  began  to  work  very  hard  to  earn 
money.  She  sewed  for  people,  and  when 
she  was  a  little  older  she  taught  some 
little  girls  their  lessons,  and  then  she  wrote 
stories  for  the  papers.  Every  bit  of  money 
she  earned,  except  what  she  had  to  use, 
she  gave  to  her  dear  family.  It  helped  very 
much,  but  it  was  so  little  that  Louisa  never 
felt  as  if  she  were  doing  anything. 

Every  year  she  grew  more  unselfish,  and 
every  year  she  worked  harder.  She  liked 
writing  stories  best  of  all  her  work,  but 
she  did  not  get  much  money  for  them,  and 
some  people  told  her  she  was  wasting  her 
time. 

At  last,  one  day,  a  publisher  asked 
Louisa,  who  was  now  a  woman,  to  write 
a  book  for  girls.  Louisa  was  not  very  well, 
and  she  was  very  tired,  but  she  always 
said,  "I'll  try,"  when  she  had  a  chance  to 
work;   so  she  said,  "I'll  try,"  to  the  pub- 


A   TRUE   STORY   ABOUT   A   GIRL        87 

lisher.  When  she  thought  about  the  book 
she  remembered  the  good  times  she  used 
to  have  with  her  sisters  in  the  big,  bare 
house  in  the  country.  And  so  she  wrote  a 
story  and  put  all  that  in  it;  she  put  her 
dear  mother  and  her  wise  father  in  it,  and 
all  the  little  sisters,  and  besides  the  jolly 
times  and  the  plays,  she  put  the  sad,  hard 
times  in,  —  the  work  and  worry  and  going 
without  things. 

When  the  book  was  written,  she  called 
it  "Little  Women,"  and  sent  it  to  the  pub- 
lisher. 

And,  children,  the  little  book  made 
Louisa  famous.  It  was  so  sweet  and 
funny  and  sad  and  real,  —  like  our  own 
lives, — that  everybody  wanted  to  read  it. 
Everybody  bought  it,  and  much  money 
came  from  it.  After  so  many  years,  little 
Louisa's  wish  came  true:  she  bought  a 
nice  house  for  her  family;  she  sent  one 
of  her  sisters  to  Europe,  to  study;  she 
gave  her  father  books;  but  best  of  all,  she 
was  able  to  see  to  it  that  the  beloved 
mother,  so  tired  and  so  ill,  could  have  rest 
and  happiness.  Never  again  did  the  dear 
mother  have  to  do  any  hard  work,  and 


88       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

she  had  pretty  things  about  her  all  the  rest 
of  her  life. 

Louisa  Alcott,  for  that  was  Louisa's 
name,  wrote  many  beautiful  books  after 
this,  and  she  became  one  of  the  most  fa- 
mous women  of  America.  But  I  think  the 
most  beautiful  thing  about  her  is  what  I 
have  been  telling  you:  that  she  loved  her 
mother  so  well  that  she  gave  her  whole 
life  to  make  her  happy. 

MY  KINGDOM 

The  little  Louisa  I  told  you  about,  who 
wrote  verses  and  stories  in  her  diary,  used 
to  like  to  play  that  she  was  a  princess,  and 
that  her  kingdom  was  her  own  mind. 
When  she  had  unkind  or  dissatisfied 
thoughts,  she  tried  to  get  rid  of  them  by 
playing  they  were  enemies  of  the  kingdom; 
and  she  drove  them  out  with  soldiers; 
the  soldiers  were  patience,  duty,  and  love. 
It  used  to  help  Louisa  to  be  good  to  play 
this,  and  I  think  it  may  have  helped  make 
her  the  splendid  woman  she  was  after- 
ward. Maybe  you  would  like  to  hear  a 
poem  she  wrote  about  it,  when  she  was 


MY  KINGDOM  89 

only  fourteen  years  old.1   It  will  help  you, 
too,  to  think  the  same  thoughts. 

A  little  kingdom  I  possess, 

Where  thoughts  and  feelings  dwell. 
And  very  hard  I  find  the  task 

Of  governing  it  well; 
For  passion  tempts  and  troubles  me, 

A  wayward  will  misleads, 
And  selfishness  its  shadow  casts 

On  all  my  words  and  deeds. 

How  can  I  learn  to  rule  myself, 

To  be  the  child  I  should, 
Honest  and  brave,  nor  ever  tire 

Of  trying  to  be  good  ? 
How  can  I  keep  a  sunny  soul 

To  shine  along  life's  way? 
How  can  I  tune  my  little  heart 

To  sweetly  sing  all  day? 

Dear  Father,  help  me  with  the  love 
That  casteth  out  my  fear, 

Teach  me  to  lean  on  thee,  and  feel 
That  thou  art  very  near, 

1  From  Louisa  M.  Alcott's  Life,  Letters,  and  Journals  (Little, 
Brown  &  Co.).  Copyright,  1878,  by  Louisa  M.  Alcott.  Copy- 
right, 1906,  by  J.  S.  P.  Alcott. 


90      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

That  no  temptation  is  unseen, 
No  childish  grief  too  small, 

Since  thou,  with  patience  infinite, 
Doth  soothe  and  comfort  all. 

I  do  not  ask  for  any  crown 

But  that  which  all  may  win, 
Nor  seek  to  conquer  any  world, 

Except  the  one  within. 
Be  thou  my  guide  until  I  find, 

Led  by  a  tender  hand, 
Thy  happy  kingdom  in  myself, 

And  dare  to  take  command. 


P1CCOLA  ■ 

Poor,  sweet  Piccola!   Did  you  hear 
What  happened  to  Piccola,  children  dear  ? 
'T  is  seldom  Fortune  such  favor  grants 
As  fell  to  this  little  maid  of  France. 

'T  was  Christmas-time,  and  her  parents  poor 
Could  hardly  drive  the  wolf  from  the  door, 
Striving  with  poverty's  patient  pain 
Only  to  live  till  summer  again. 


1  From  Celia  Thaxter's   Stories   and  Poems  for  Children 
(Houghton.  Mifflin  &  Co.). 


PICCOLA  91 

No  gifts  for  Piccola!   Sad  were  they 
When  dawned  the  morning  of  Christmas- 

day; 
Their  little  darling  no  joy  might  stir, 
St.  Nicholas  nothing  would  bring  to  her! 

But  Piccola  never  doubted  at  all 
That  something  beautiful  must  befall 
Every  child  upon  Christmas-day, 
And  so  she  slept  till  the  dawn  was  gray. 

And  full  of  faith,  when  at  last  she  woke, 
She   stole   to   her  shoe    as    the    morning 

broke ; 
Such  sounds  of  gladness  filled  all  the  air, 
Twas  plain  St.  Nicholas  had  been  there! 

In  rushed  Piccola  sweet,  half  wild: 
Never  was  seen  such  a  joyful  child. 
"See  what  the  good  saint  brought!"  she 

cried, 
And  mother  and  father  must  peep  inside. 

Now  such  a  story  who  ever  heard  ? 
There  was  a  little  shivering  bird! 
A  sparrow,  that  in  at  the  window  flew, 
Had  crept  into  Piccola's  tiny  shoe! 


92      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

How  good  poor  Piccola  must  have  been!" 
She  cried,  as  happy  as  any  queen, 
While  the  starving  sparrow  she  fed  and 

warmed, 
And    danced    with   rapture,    she   was    so 

charmed. 

Children,  this  story  I  tell  to  you, 
Of  Piccola  sweet  and  her  bird,  is  true. 
In  the  far-off  land  of  France,  they  say, 
Still  do  they  live  to  this  very  day. 

THE    LITTLE   FIR    TREE 

[When  I  was  a  very  little  girl  some  one, 
probably  my  mother,  read  to  me  Hans 
Christian  Andersen's  story  of  the  Little  Fir 
Tree.  It  happened  that  I  did  not  read  it 
for  myself  or  hear  it  again  during  my  child- 
hood. One  Christmas  day,  when  I  was 
grown  up,  I  found  myself  at  a  loss  for  the 
"one  more"  story  called  for  by  some  little 
children  with  whom  I  was  spending  the  hol- 
iday. In  the  mental  search  for  buried  trea- 
sure which  ensued,  I  came  upon  one  or 
two  word-impressions  of  the  experiences 
of  the  Little  Fir  Tree,  and  forthwith  wove 


THE  LITTLE  FIR  TREE  93 

them  into  what  I  supposed  to  be  something 
of  a  reproduction  of  the  original.  The  latter 
part  of  the  story  had  wholly  faded  from  my 
memory,  so  that  I  "made  up"  to  suit  the 
tastes  of  my  audience.  Afterward  I  told  the 
story  to  a  good  many  children,  at  one  time 
or  another,  and  it  gradually  took  the  shape 
it  has  here.  It  was  not  until  several  years 
later  that,  in  re-reading  Andersen  for  other 
purposes,  I  came  upon  the  real  story  of 
the  Little  Fir  Tree,  and  read  it  for  my- 
self. Then  indeed  I  was  amused,  and  some- 
what distressed,  to  find  how  far  I  had  wan- 
dered from  the  text. 

I  give  this  explanation  that  the  reader 
may  know  I  do  not  presume  to  offer  the 
little  tale  which  follows  as  an  "adaptation" 
of  Andersen's  famous  story.  I  offer  it 
plainly  as  a  story  which  children  have 
liked,  and  which  grew  out  of  my  early 
memories  of  Andersen's  "The  Little  Fir 
Tree  "]. 

Once  there  was  a  Little  Fir  Tree,  slim 
and  pointed,  and  shiny,  which  stood  in  the 
great  forest  in  the  midst  of  some  big  fir 
trees,  broad,  and  tall,  and  shadowy  green. 
The  Little  Fir  Tree  was  very  unhappy  be- 


94      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

cause  he  was  not  big  like  the  others.  When 
the  birds  came  flying  into  the  woods  and 
lit  on  the  branches  of  the  big  trees  and 
built  their  nests  there,  he  used  to  call  up 
to  them, — 

"Come  down,  come  down,  rest  in  my 
branches!"    But  they  always  said, — 

"Oh,  no,  no;  you  are  too  little!" 

And  when  the  splendid  wind  came  blow- 
ing and  singing  through  the  forest,  it  bent 
and  rocked  and  swung  the  tops  of  the  big 
trees,  and  murmured  to  them.  Then  the 
Little  Fir  Tree  looked  up,  and  called,  — 

"Oh,  please,  dear  wind,  come  down  and 
play  with  me!"    But  he  always  said, — 

"Oh,  no;  you  are  too  little,  you  are  too 
little!" 

And  in  the  winter  the  white  snow  fell 
softly,  softly,  and  covered  the  great  trees 
all  over  with  wonderful  caps  and  coats  of 
white.  The  Little  Fir  Tree,  close  down  in 
the  cover  of  the  others,  would  call  up,- 

"Oh,  please,  dear  snow,  give  me  a  cap 
too!   I  want  to  play,  too!"    But  the  snow 
always  said, — 

"Oh  no,  no,  no;  you  are  too  little,  vol 
are  too  little!" 


THE   LITTLE   FIR  TREE  95 

The  worst  of  all  was  when  men  came 
into  the  wood,  with  sledges  and  teams  of 
horses.  They  came  to  cut  the  big  trees 
down  and  carry  them  away.  And  when  one 
had  been  cut  down  and  carried  away  the 
others  talked  about  it,  and  nodded  their 
heads.  And  the  Little  Fir  Tree  listened, 
and  heard  them  say  that  when  you  were 
carried  away  so,  you  might  become  the 
mast  of  a  mighty  ship,  and  go  far  away  over 
the  ocean,  and  see  many  wonderful  things ; 
or  you  might  be  part  of  a  fine  house  in  a 
great  city,  and  see  much  of  life.  The  Little 
Fir  Tree  wanted  greatly  to  see  life,  but  he 
was  always  too  little ;  the  men  passed  him  by. 

But  by  and  by,  one  cold  winter's  morn- 
ing, men  came  with  a  sledge  and  horses, 
and  after  they  had  cut  here  and  there  they 
came  to  the  circle  of  trees  round  the  Little 
Fir  Tree,  and  looked  all  about. 

"There  are  none  little  enough,"  they 
said. 

Oh!  how  the  Little  Fir  Tree  pricked 
lp  his  needles! 

"Here  is  one,"  said  one  of  the  men, 
'it  is  just  little  enough."  And  he  touched 
lie  Little  Fir  Tree. 


96      STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

The  Little  Fir  Tree  was  happy  as  a  bird, 
because  he  knew  they  were  about  to  cut 
him  down.  And  when  he  was  being  car- 
ried away  on  the  sledge  he  lay  wondering, 
so  contentedly,  whether  he  should  be  the 
mast  of  a  ship  or  part  of  a  fine  city  house. 
But  when  they  came  to  the  town  he  was 
taken  out  and  set  upright  in  a  tub  and 
placed  on  the  edge  of  a  sidewalk  in  a  row 
of  other  fir  trees,  all  small,  but  none  so  little 
as  he.  And  then  the  Little  Fir  Tree  began 
to  see  life. 

People  kept  coming  to  look  at  the  trees 
and  to  take  them  away.  But  always  when 
they  saw  the  Little  Fir  Tree  they  shook 
their  heads  and  said, — 

"It  is  too  little,  too  little." 

Until,  finally,  two  children  came  along, 
hand  in  hand,  looking  carefully  at  all  the 
small  trees.  When  they  saw  the  Little  Fir 
Tree  they  cried  out, — 

"We'll  take  this  one;  it  is  just  little 
enough!" 

They  tool*:  him  out  of  his  tub  and  car- 
ried him  away,  between  them.  And  the 
happy  Little  Fir  Tree  spent  all  his  time 
wondering  what  it  could  be  that  he  was  just 


THE   LITTLE  FIR  TREE  97 

little  enough  for;  he  knew  it  could  hardly 
be  a  mast  or  a  house,  since  he  was  going 
away  with  children. 

He  kept  wondering,  while  they  took  him 
in  through  some  big  doors,  and  set  him  up 
in  another  tub,  on  the  table,  in  a  bare  little 
room.  Pretty  soon*  they  went  away,  and 
came  back  again  with  a  big  basket,  carried 
between  them.  Then  some  pretty  ladies, 
with  white  caps  on  their  heads  and  white 
aprons  over  their  blue  dresses,  came  bring- 
ing little  parcels.  The  children  took  things 
out  of  the  basket  and  began  to  play  with 
the  Little  Fir  Tree,  just  as  he  had  often 
begged  the  wind  and  the  snow  and  the 
birds  to  do.  He  felt  their  soft  little  touches 
on  his  head  and  his  twigs  and  his  branches. 
And  when  he  looked  down  at  himself,  as 
far  as  he  could  look,  he  saw  that  he  was 
all  hung  with  gold  and  silver  chains !  There 
were  strings  of  white  fluffy  stuff  drooping 
around  him;  his  twigs  held  little  gold  nuts 
and  pink,  rosy  balls  and  silver  stars;  he 
had  pretty  little  pink  and  white  candles  in 
his  arms ;  but  last,  and  most  wonderful  of 
all,  the  children  hung  a  beautiful  white, 
floating   doll-angel    over   his   head!     The 


98       STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

Little  Fir  Tree  could  not  breathe,  for  joy 
and  wonder.  What  was  it  that  he  was, 
now?    Why  was  this  glory  for  him? 

After  a  time  every  one  went  away  and 
left  him.  It  grew  dusk,  and  the  Little  Fir 
Tree  began  to  hear  strange  sounds  through 
the  closed  doors.  Sometimes  he  heard  a 
child  crying.  He  was  beginning  to  be  lonely. 
It  grew  more  and  more  shadowy. 

All  at  once,  the  doors  opened  and  the 
two  children  came  in.  Two  of  the  pretty 
ladies  were  with  them.  They  came  up  to 
the  Little  Fir  Tree  and  quickly  lighted  all 
the  little  pink  and  white  candles.  Then 
the  two  pretty  ladies  took  hold  of  the  table 
with  the  Little  Fir  Tree  on  it  and  pushed 
it,  very  smoothly  and  quickly,  out  of  the 
doors,  across  a  hall,  and  in  at  another  door. 

The  Little  Fir  Tree  had  a  sudden  sight 
of  a  long  room  with  many  little  white  beds 
in  it,  of  children  propped  up  on  pillows  in  the 
beds,  and  of  other  children  in  great  wheeled 
chairs,  and  others  hobbling  about  or  sitting 
in  little  chairs.  He  wondered  why  all  the 
little  children  looked  so  white  and  tired; 
he  did  not  know  that  he  was  in  a  hospital. 
But  before  he  could  wonder  any  more  his 


HOW   MOSES  WAS  SAVED  99 

breath  was  quite  taken  away  by  the  shout 
those  little  white  children  gave. 

"  Oh !  oh !   m-m !   m-m ! ' '   they  cried. 

"How  pretty!  How  beautiful!  Oh, 
is  n't  it  lovely!" 

He  knew  they  must  mean  him,  for  all 
their  shining  eyes  were  looking  straight  at 
him.  He  stood  as  straight  as  a  mast,  and 
quivered  in  every  needle,  for  joy.  Presently 
one  little  weak  child-voice  called  out,  — 

"It's  the  nicest  Christmas  tree  I  ever 
saw!" 

And  then,  at  last,  the  Little  Fir  Tree 
knew  what  he  was;  he  was  a  Christmas 
tree!  And  from  his  shiny  head  to  his  feet 
he  was  glad,  through  and  through,  because 
he  was  just  little  enough  to  be  the  nicest 
kind  of  tree  in  the  world! 

HOW  MOSES   WAS  SAVED 

Thousands  of  years  ago,  many  years 
before  David  lived,  there  was  a  very  wise 
and  good  man  of  his  people  who  was  a 
friend  and  adviser  of  the  king  of  Egypt. 
And  for  love  of  this  friend,  the  king  of 
Egypt  had   let  numbers  of  the  Israelites 


100     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

settle  in  his  land.  But  after  the  king  and 
his  Israelitish  friend  were  dead,  there  was  a 
new  king,  who  hated  the  Israelites.  When 
he  saw  how  strong  they  were,  and  how 
many  there  were  of  them,  he  began  to  be 
afraid  that  some  day  they  might  number 
more  than  the  Egyptians,  and  might  take 
his  land  from  him. 

Then  he  and  his  rulers  did  a  wicked 
thing.  They  made  the  Israelites  slaves. 
And  they  gave  them  terrible  tasks  to  do, 
without  proper  rest,  or  food,  or  clothes. 
For  they  hoped  that  the  hardship  would 
kill  off  the  Israelites.  They  thought  the 
old  men  would  die  and  the  young  men 
be  so  ill  and  weary  that  they  could  not 
bring  up  families,  and  so  the  race  would 
vanish  away. 

But  in  spite  of  the  work  and  suffering, 
the  Israelites  remained  strong,  and  more 
and  more  boys  grew  up,  to  make  the  king 
afraid. 

Then  he  did  the  wickedest  thing  of  all. 
He  ordered  his  soldiers  to  kill  every  boy 
baby  that  should  be  born  in  an  Israelitish 
family;  he  did  not  care  about  the  girls, 
because  they  could  not  grow  up  to  fight. 


HOW  MOSES  WAS   SAVED  NJJ 

Very  soon  after  this  evil  order,  a  boy 
baby  was  born  in  a  certain  Israelitish 
family.  When  his  mother  first  looked  at 
him  her  heart  was  nearly  broken,  for  he 
was  even  more  beautiful  than  most  babies 
are,  —  so  strong  and  fair  and  sweet.  But 
he  was  a  boy!  How  could  she  save  him 
from  death? 

Somehow,  she  contrived  to  keep  him 
hidden  for  three  whole  months.  But  at 
the  end  of  that  time,  she  saw  that  it  was 
not  going  to  be  possible  to  keep  him  safe 
any  longer.  She  had  been  thinking  all  this 
time  about  what  she  should  do,  and  now 
she  carried  out  her  plan. 

First,  she  took  a  basket  made  of  bul- 
rushes and  daubed  it  all  over  with  pitch, 
so  that  it  was  water-tight,  and  then  she  laid 
the  baby  in  it;  then  she  carried  it  to  the 
edge  of  the  river  and  laid  it  in  the  flags  by 
the  river's  brink.  It  did  not  show  at  all, 
unless  one  were  quite  near  it.  Then  she 
kissed  her  little  son  and  left  him  there. 
But  his  sister  stood  far  off,  not  seeming  to 
watch,  but  really  watching  carefully  to  see 
what  would  happen  to  the  baby. 

Soon  there  was  the  sound  of  talk  and 


10ft    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

laughter,  and  a  train  of  beautiful  women 
came  down  to  the  water's  edge.  It  was  the 
king's  daughter,  come  down  to  bathe  in 
the  river,  with  her  maidens.  The  maidens 
walked  along  by  the  river's  side. 

As  the  king's  daughter  came  near  to  the 
water,  she  saw  the  strange  little  basket 
lying  in  the  flags,  and  she  sent  her  maid  to 
bring  it  to  her.  And  when  she  had  opened 
it,  she  saw  the  child;  the  poor  baby  was 
crying.  When  she  saw  him,  so  helpless 
and  so  beautiful,  crying  for  his  mother, 
the  king's  daughter  pitied  him  and  loved 
him.  She  knew  the  cruel  order  of  her 
father,  and  she  said  at  once,  "This  is  one 
of  the  Hebrews'  children." 

At  that  moment  the  baby's  sister  came 
to  the  princess  and  said,  "Shall  I  go  and 
find  thee  a  nurse  from  the  Hebrew  women, 
so  that  she  may  nurse  the  child  for  thee?" 
Not  a  word  did  she  say  about  whose  child 
it  was,  but  perhaps  the  princess  guessed; 
I  don't  know.  At  all  events,  she  told  the 
little  girl  to  go. 

So  the  maiden  went,  and  brought  her 
mother! 

Then  the  king's  daughter  said  to  the 


THE  TEN  FAIRIES  10S 

baby's  mother,  "Take  this  child  away  and 
nurse  it  for  me,  and  I  will  give  thee  wages." 

Was  not  that  a  strange  thing  ?  And  can 
you  think  how  happy  the  baby's  mother 
was  ?  For  now  the  baby  would  be  known 
only  as  the  princess's  adopted  child,  and 
would  be  safe. 

And  it  was  so.  The  mother  kept  him 
until  he  was  old  enough  to  be  taken  to  the 
princess's  palace.  Then  he  was  brought 
and  given  to  the  king's  daughter,  and  he  be- 
came her  son.    And  she  named  him  Moses. 

But  the  strangest  part  of  the  whole  story 
is,  that  when  Moses  grew  to  be  a  man  he 
became  so  strong  and  wise  that  it  was  he 
who  at  last  saved  his  people  from  the  king 
and  conquered  the  Egyptians.  The  one 
child  saved  by  the  king's  own  daughter 
was  the  very  one  the  king  would  most  have 
wanted  to  kill,  if  he  had  known. 

I  THE    TEN    FAIRIES1 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  dear  little 
girl,  whose  name  was  Elsa.    Elsa's  father 

1  Adapted  from  the  facts  given  in  the  German  of  Die  Zelm 
Vcfrn,  by  H.  A.  Guerber. 


104     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

and  mother  worked  very  hard  and  became 
rich.  But  they  loved  Elsa  so  much  that 
they  did  not  like  to  have  her  do  any  work ; 
very  foolishly,  they  let  her  play  all  the 
time.  So  when  Elsa  grew  up,  she  did  not 
know  how  to  do  anything;  she  could  not 
make  bread,  she  could  not  sweep  a  room, 
she  could  not  sew  a  seam;  she  could  only 
laugh  and  sing.  But  she  was  so  sweet  and 
merry  that  everybody  loved  her.  And  by 
and  by,  she  married  one  of  the  people  who 
loved  her,  and  had  a  house  of  her  own  to 
take  care  of. 

Then,  then,  my  dears,  came  hard  times 
for  Elsa!  There  were  so  many  things  to 
be  done  in  the  house,  and  she  did  not  know 
how  to  do  any  of  them!  And  because  she 
had  never  worked  at  all  it  made  her  very 
tired  even  to  try;  she  was  tired  before 
the  morning  was  over,  every  day.  The 
maid  would  come  and  say,  "How  shall  I 
do  this?"  or  "How  shall  I  do  that?" 
And  Elsa  would  have  to  say,  "I  don't 
know."  Then  the  maid  would  pretend 
that  she  did  not  know,  either;  and  when 
she  saw  her  mistress  sitting  about  doing 
nothing,  she,  too,  sat  about,  idle. 


THE  TEN  FAIRIES  105 

Elsa's  husband  had  a  hard  time  of  it; 
he  did  not  have  good  things  to  eat,  and  they 
were  not  ready  at  the  right  time,  and  the 
house  looked  all  in  a  clutter.  It  made  him 
sad,  and  that  made  Elsa  sad,  for  she  wanted 
to  do  everything  just  right. 

At  last,  one  day,  Elsa's  husband  went 
away  quite  cross;  he  said  to  her,  as  he 
went  out  the  door,  "It  is  no  wonder  that 
the  house  looks  so,  when  you  sit  all  day 
with  your  hands  in  your  lap!" 

Little  Elsa  cried  bitterly  when  he  was 
gone,  for  she  did  not  want  to  make  her 
husband  unhappy  and  cross,  and  she 
wanted  the  house  to  look  nice.  "  Oh,  dear," 
she  sobbed,  "I  wish  I  could  do  things 
right !  I  wish  I  could  work !  I  wish  —  I 
wish  I  had  ten  good  fairies  to  work  for  me ! 
Then  I  could  keep  the  house!" 

As  she  said  the  words,  a  great  gray  man 
stood  before  her;  he  was  wrapped  in  a 
strange  gray  cloak  that  covered  him  from 
head  to  foot;  and  he  smiled  at  Elsa. 
"What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?"  he  said.  "Why 
do  you  cry?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  crying  because  I  do  not  know 
how  to  keep  the  house,"  said  Elsa.    "I 


106     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

cannot  make  bread,  I  cannot  sweep,  I 
cannot  sew  a  seam;  when  I  was  a  little 
girl  I  never  learned  to  work,  and  now  I 
cannot  do  anything  right.  I  wish  I  had 
ten  good  fairies  to  help  me!" 

"You  shall  have  them,  dear,"  said  the 
gray  man,  and  he  shook  his  strange  gray 
cloak.  Pouf !  Out  hopped  ten  tiny  fairies, 
no  bigger  than  that! 

"These  shall  be  your  servants,  Elsa," 
said  the  gray  man;  "they  are  faithful 
and  clever,  and  they  will  do  everything 
you  want  them  to,  just  right.  But  the 
neighbors  might  stare  and  ask  questions  if 
they  saw  these  little  chaps  running  about 
your  house,  so  I  will  hide  them  away  for 
you.    Give  me  your  little  useless  hands." 

Wondering,  Elsa  stretched  out  her  pretty, 
little,  white  hands. 

"  Now  stretch  out  our  little  useless  fin- 
gers, dear  !" 

Elsa  stretched  out  her  pretty  pink  fin- 
gers. 

The  gray  man  touched  each  one  of  the 
ten  little  fingers,  and  as  he  touched  them 
he  said  their  names :  "  Little  Thumb ;  Fore- 
finger; Thimble-finger;   Ring-finger;   Lit- 


THE   TEN    FAIRIES  107 

tie  Finger ;  Little  Thumb  ;  Forefinger ; 
Thimble-finger;  Ring-finger;  Little  Fin- 
ger!" And  as  he  named  the  fingers,  one 
after  another,  the  tiny  fairies  bowed  their 
tiny  heads  ;  there  was  a  fairy  for  every 
name. 

"Hop!  hide  yourselves  away!"  said  the 
gray  man. 

Hop,  hop!  The  fairies  sprang  to  Elsa's 
knee,  then  to  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and 
Lhen  —  whisk !  they  were  all  hidden  away 
in  her  little  pink  fingers,  a  fairy  in  every 
finger!  And  the  gray  man  was  gone. 

Elsa  sat  and  looked  with  wonder  at  her 
little  white  hands  and  the  ten  useless 
fingers.  But  suddenly  the  little  fingers 
began  to  stir.  The  tiny  fairies  who  were 
hidden  away  there  were  n't  used  to  stay- 
ing still,  and  they  were  getting  restless. 
They  stirred  so  that  Elsa  jumped  up  and 
ran  to  the  cooking  table,  and  took  hold 
of  the  bread  board.  No  sooner  had  she 
touched  the  bread  board  than  the  little 
fairies  began  to  work:  they  measured  the 
flour,  mixed  the  bread,  kneaded  the  loaves, 
and  set  them  to  rise,  quicker  than  you 
could  wink;  and  when  the  bread  was  done, 


108     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

it  was  the  nicest  you  could  wish.  Then  the 
little  fairy-fingers  seized  the  broom,  and  in 
a  twinkling  they  were  making  the  house 
clean.  And  so  it  went,  all  day.  Elsa  flew 
about  from  one  thing  to  another,  and  the 
ten  fairies  did  it  all,  just  right. 

When  the  maid  saw  her  mistress  work- 
ing, she  began  to  work,  too;  and  when  she 
saw  how  beautifully  everything  was  done, 
she  was  ashamed  to  do  anything  badly 
herself.  In  a  little  while  the  housework  was 
going  smoothly,  and  Elsa  could  laugh  and 
sing  again. 

There  was  no  more  crossness  in  that 
house.  Elsa's  husband  grew  so  proud  of 
her  that  he  went  about  saying  to  everybody, 
"My  grandmother  was  a  line  housekeeper, 
and  my  mother  was  a  fine  housekeeper,  but 
neither  of  them  could  hold  a  candle  to  my 
wife.  She  has  only  one  maid,  but,  to  see 
the  work  done,  you  would  think  she  had 
as  many  servants  as  she  has  fingers  on  her 
hands!" 

When  Elsa  heard  that,  she  used  to  laugh 
but  she  never,  never  told. 


THE  ELVES  AND  THE  SHOEMAKER    109 

THE  ELVES  AND  THE  SHOE- 
MAKER 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  an  honest 
shoemaker,  who  was  very  poor.  He  worked 
as  hard  as  he  could,  and  still  he  could  not 
earn  enough  to  keep  himself  and  his  wife. 
At  last  there  came  a  day  when  he  had 
nothing  left  but  one  piece  of  leather,  big 
enough  to  make  one  pair  of  shoes.  He 
cut  out  the  shoes,  ready  to  stitch,  and  left 
them  on  the  bench;  then  he  said  his  pray- 
ers and  went  to  bed,  trusting  that  he  could 
finish  the  shoes  on  the  next  day  and  sell 
them. 

Bright  and  early  the  next  morning,  he 
rose  and  went  to  his  work-bench.  There 
lay  a  pair  of  shoes,  beautifully  made,  and 
the  leather  was  gone!  There  was  no  sign 
of  any  one's  having  been  there.  The  shoe- 
maker and  his  wife  did  not  know  what  to 
make  of  it.  But  the  first  customer  who 
came  was  so  pleased  with  the  beautiful 
shoes  that  he  bought  them,  and  paid  so 
much  that  the  shoemaker  was  able  to  buy 
leather  enough  for  two  pairs. 


110     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

Happily,  he  cut  them  out,  and  then,  as 
it  was  late,  he  left  the  pieces  on  the  bench, 
ready  to  sew  in  the  morning.  But  when 
morning  came,  two  pairs  of  shoes  lay  on  the 
bench,  most  beautifully  made,  and  no  sign 
of  any  one  who  had  been  there.  The  shoe- 
maker and  his  wife  were  quite  at  a  loss. 

That  day  a  customer  came  and  bought 
both  pairs,  and  paid  so  much  for  them  that 
the  shoemaker  bought  leather  for  four 
pairs,  with  the  money. 

Once  more  he  cut  out  the  shoes  and  left 
them  on  the  bench.  And  in  the  morning 
all  four  pairs  were  made. 

It  went  on  like  this  until  the  shoemaker 
and  his  wife  were  prosperous  people.  But 
they  could  not  be  satisfied  to  have  so  much 
done  for  them  and  not  know  to  whom  they 
should  be  grateful.  So  one  night,  after  the 
shoemaker  had  left  the  pieces  of  leather 
on  the  bench,  he  and  his  wife  hid  them- 
selves behind  a  curtain,  and  left  a  light  in 
the  room. 

Just  as  the  clock  struck  twelve  the  door 
opened  softly,  and  two  tiny  elves  came 
dancing  into  the  room,  hopped  on  to  the 
bench,   and   began  to  put  the  pieces   to- 


THE    ELVES  AND  THE  SHOEMAKER    111 

gether.  They  were  quite  naked,  but  they 
had  wee  little  scissors  and  hammers  and 
thread.  Tap!  tap!  went  the  little  ham- 
mers; stitch,  stitch,  went  the  thread,  and 
the  little  elves  were  hard  at  work.  No  one 
ever  worked  so  fast  as  they.  In  almost  no 
time  all  the  shoes  were  stitched  and  fin- 
ished. Then  the  tiny  elves  took  hoM  of 
each  other's  hands  and  danced  round  the 
shoes  on  the  bench,  till  the  shoemaker  and 
his  wife  had  hard  work  not  to  laugh  aloud. 
But  as  the  clock  struck  two,  the  little  crea- 
tures whisked  away  out  of  the  window, 
and  left  the  room  all  as  it  was  before. 

The  shoemaker  and  his  wife  looked  at 
each  other,  and  said,  "How  can  we  thank 
the  little  elves  who  have  made  us  happy 
and  prosperous ?" 

"I  should  like  to  make  them  some  pretty 
clothes,"  said  the  wife,  "they  are  quite 
naked." 

"I  will  make  the  shoes  if  you  will  make 
the  coats,"  said  her  husband. 

That  very  day  they  set  about  it.  The 
wife  cut  out  two  tiny,  tiny  coats  of  green, 
two  weeny,  weeny  waistcoats  of  yellow, 
two  little  pairs  of  trousers,  of  white,    two 


112     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

bits  of  caps,  bright  red  (for  every  one 
knows  the  elves  love  bright  colors),  and 
her  husband  made  two  little  pairs  of  shoes 
with  long,  pointed  toes.  They  made  the 
wee  clothes  as  dainty  as  could  be,  with 
nice  little  stitches  and  pretty  buttons ;  and 
by  Christmas  time,  they  were  finished. 

On  Christmas  eve,  the  shoemaker  cleaned 
his  bench,  and  on  it,  instead  of  leather, 
he  laid  the  two  sets  of  gay  little  fairy- 
clothes.  Then  he  and  his  wife  hid  away 
as  before,  to  watch. 

Promptly  at  midnight,  the  little  naked 
elves  came  in.  They  hopped  upon  the 
bench ;  but  when  they  saw  the  little  clothes 
there,  they  laughed  and  danced  for  joy. 
Each  one  caught  up  his  little  coat  and 
things  and  began  to  put  them  on.  Then 
they  looked  at  each  other  and  made  all 
kinds  of  funny  motions  in  their  delight. 
At  last  they  began  to  dance,  and  when 
the  clock  struck  two,  they  danced  quite 
away,  out  of  the  window. 

They  never  came  back  any  more,  but 
from  that  day  they  gave  the  shoemaker 
and  his  wife  good  luck,  so  that  they  never 
needed  any  more  help. 


WHO  KILLED  THE  OTTER'S  BABIES     113 

WHO  KILLED  THE  OTTER'S 
BABIES1? 

Once  the  Otter  came  to  the  Mouse-deer 
and  said,  "Friend  Mouse-deer,  will  you 
please  take  care  of  my  babies  while  I  go 
to  the  river,  to  catch  fish?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Mouse-deer,  "go 
along." 

But  when  the  Otter  came  back  from  the 
river,  with  a  string  of  fish,  he  found  his 
babies  crushed  flat. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Friend  Mouse- 
deer?"  he  said.  "Who  killed  my  children 
while  you  were  taking  care  of  them?" 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  the  Mouse-deer, 
"but  you  know  I  am  Chief  Dancer  of  the 
War-dance,  and  the  Woodpecker  came 
and  sounded  the  war-gong,  so  I  danced. 
I  forgot  your  children,  and  trod  on  them." 

"I  shall  go  to  King  Solomon,"  said  the 
Otter,  "and  you  shall  be  punished." 

Soon  the  Mouse-deer  was  called  before 
King  Solomon. 

1  Adapted  from  the  story  as  told  in  Fables  and  Folk  Talei 
from  an  Eastern  Forest,  by  Walter  Skeat. 


114     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

"Did  you  kill  the  Otter's  babies ?"  said 
the  king. 

"Yes,  your  Majesty,"  said  the  Mouse- 
deer,  "but  I  did  not  mean  to." 

"How  did  it  happen?"  said  the  king. 

"  Your  Majesty  knows,"  said  the  Mouse- 
deer,  "that  I  am  Chief  Dancer  of  the 
War-dance.  The  Woodpecker  came  and 
sounded  the  war-gong,  and  I  had  to  dance ; 
and  as  I  danced  I  trod  on  the  Otter's 
children." 

"Send  for  the  Woodpecker,"  said  King 
Solomon.  And  when  the  Woodpecker 
came,  he  said  to  him,  "Was  it  you  who 
sounded  the  war-gong?" 

"Yes,  your  Majesty,"  said  the  Wood- 
pecker, "but  I  had  to." 

"Why?"  said  the  king. 

"Your  Majesty  knows,"  said  the  Wood- 
pecker, "that  I  am 'Chief  Beater  of  the 
War-gong,  and  I  sounded  the  gong  be- 
cause I  saw  the  Great  Lizard  wearing  his 
sword." 

"Send  for  the  Great  Lizard,"  said  King 
Solomon.  When  the  Great  Lizard  came, 
he  asked  him,  "Was  it  you  who  were  wear- 
ing your  sword?" 


WHO  KILLED  THE  OTTER'S  BABIES    115 

"Yes,  your  Majesty,"  said  the  Great 
Lizard;  "but  I  had  to." 

"Why?"  said  the  king. 

"Your  Majesty  knows,"  said  the  Great 
Lizard,  "that  I  am  Chief  Protector  of  the 
Sword.  I  wore  my  sword  because  the 
Tortoise  came  wearing  his  coat  of  mail." 

So  the  Tortoise  was  sent  for. 

"Why  did  you  wear  your  coat  of  mail  ?" 
said  the  king. 

"I  put  it  on,  your  Majesty,"  said  the 
Tortoise,  "because  I  saw  the  King-crab 
trailing  his  three-edged  pike." 

Then  the  King-crab  was  sent  for. 

"Why  were  you  trailing  your  three- 
edged  pike?"  said  King  Solomon. 

"Because,  your  Majesty,"  said  the 
Kingcrab,  "I  saw  that  the  Crayfish  had 
shouldered  his  lance." 

Immediately  the  Crayfish  was  sent 
for. 

"Why  did  you  shoulder  your  lance?" 
said  the  king. 

"Because,  your  Majesty,"  said  the  Cray- 
fish, "I  saw  the  Otter  coming  down  to  the 
river  to  kill  my  children." 

"Oh,"  said  King  Solomon,  "if  that  is 


(16    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

the  case,  the  Otter  killed  the  Otter's  chil- 
dren. And  the  Mouse-deer  cannot  be 
held,  by  the  law  of  the  land!" 

EARLY1 

I  like  to  lie  and  wait  to  see 

My  mother  braid  her  hair. 

It  is  as  long  as  it  can  be, 

And  yet  she  does  n't  care. 

I  love  my  mother's  hair. 

And  then  the  way  her  fingers  go; 

They  look  so  quick  and  white,  — 
In  and  out,  and  to  and  fro, 

And  braiding  in  the  light, 
And  it  is  always  right. 

So  then  she  winds  it,  shiny  brown, 
Around  her  head  into  a  crown, 

Just  like  the  day  before. 
And  then  she  looks  and  pats  it  down, 

And  looks  a  minute  more; 
While  I  stay  here  all  still  and  cool. 
Oh,  is  n't  morning  beautiful  ? 

1  From  The  Singing  Leaves,  by  Josephine  Preston  Peabody 
cHoughton,  Mifflin  and  Co.) . 


BRAHMIN,  TIGER,  AND  JACKAL       117 

THE   BRAHMIN,   THE   TIGER, 
AND   THE    JACKAL 

Do  you  know  what  a  Brahmin  is?  A 
Brahmin  is  a  very  good  and  gentle  kind  of 
man  who  lives  in  India,  and  who  treats  all 
the  beasts  as  if  they  were  his  brothers. 
There  is  a  great  deal  more  to  know  about 
Brahmins,  but  that  is  enough  for  the  story. 

One  day  a  Brahmin  was  walking  along 
a  country  road  when  he  came  upon  a 
Tiger,  shut  up  in  a  strong  iron  cage.  The 
villagers  had  caught  him  and  shut  him  up 
there  for  his  wickedness. 

"Oh,  Brother  Brahmin,  Brother  Brah- 
min/' said  the  Tiger,  "please  let  me  out, 
to  get  a  little  drink!  I  am  so  thirsty,  and 
there  is  no  water  here." 

"But  Brother  Tiger,"  said  the  Brahmin, 
"you  know  if  I  should  let  you  out,  you 
would  spring  on  me  and  eat  me  up." 

"Never,  Brother  Brahmin!"  said  the 
Tiger.  "Never  in  the  world  would  I  do 
such  an  ungrateful  thing!  Just  let  me  out 
a  little  minute,  to  get  a  little,  little  drink 
of  water,  Brother  Brahmin!" 


il8     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

So  the  Brahmin  unlocked  the  door  and 
let  the  Tiger  out.  The  moment  he  was 
out  he  sprang  on  the  Brahmin,  and  was 
about  to  eat  him  up. 

"  But,  Brother  Tiger,"  said  the  Brahmin, 
"you  promised  you  would  not.  It  is  not 
fair  or  just  that  you  should  eat  me,  when 
I  set  you  free." 

"It  is  perfectly  right  and  just,"  said  the 
Tiger,  "and  I  shall  eat  you  up." 

However,  the  Brahmin  argued  so  hard 
that  at  last  the  Tiger  agreed  to  wait  and 
ask  the  first  five  whom  they  should  meet, 
whether  it  was  fair  for  him  to  eat  the 
Brahmin,  and  to  abide  by  their  decision. 

The  first  thing  they  came  to,  to  ask, 
was  an  old  Banyan  Tree,  by  the  wayside. 
(A  banyan  tree  is  a  kind  of  fruit  tree.) 

"Brother  Banyan,"  said  the  Brahmin, 
eagerly,  "does  it  seem  to  you  right  or  just 
that  this  Tiger  should  eat  me,  when  I  set 
him  free  from  his  cage  ?" 

The  Banyan  Tree  looked  down  at  them 
and  spoke  in  a  tired  voice. 

"In  the  summer,"  he  said,  "when  the 
sun  is  hot,  men  come  and  sit  in  the  cool  of 
my  shade  and  refresh  themselves  with  the 


BRAHMIN,  TIGER,   AND   JACKAL       lid 

fruit  of  my  branches.  But  when  evening 
falls,  and  they  are  rested,  they  break  my 
twigs  and  scatter  my  leaves,  and  stone 
my  boughs  for  more  fruit.  Men  are  an 
ungrateful  race.  Let  the  Tiger  eat  the 
Brahmin." 

The  Tiger  sprang  to  eat  the  Brahmin, 
but  the  Brahmin  said, — 

"Wait,  wait;  we  have  asked  only  one. 
We  have  still  four  to  ask." 

Presently  they  came  to  a  place  where  an 
old  Bullock  was  lying  by  the  road.  The 
Brahmin  went  up  to  him  and  said, — 

"Brother  Bullock,  oh,  Brother  Bullock, 
does  it  seem  to  you  a  fair  thing  that  this 
Tiger  should  eat  me  up,  after  I  have  just 
freed  him  from  a  cage?" 

The  Bullock  looked  up,  and  answered 
in  a  deep,  grumbling  voice, — 

"When  I  was  young  and  strong  my 
master  used  me  hard,  and  I  served  him 
well.  I  carried  heavy  loads  and  carried 
them  far.  Now  that  I  am  old  and  weak 
and  cannot  work,  he  leaves  me  without 
food  or  water,  to  die  by  the  wayside.  Men 
are  a  thankless  lot.  Let  the  Tiger  eat  the 
Brahmin." 


120     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

The  Tiger  sprang,  but  the  Brahmin 
spoke  very  quickly :  — 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  only  the  second,  Brother 
Tiger;  you  promised  to  ask  five." 

The  Tiger  grumbled  a  good  deal,  but  at 
last  he  went  on  again  with  the  Brahmin. 
And  after  a  time  they  saw  an  Eagle,  high 
overhead.  The  Brahmin  called  up  to  him 
imploringly,  — 

" Oh,  Brother  Eagle,  Brother  Eagle! 
Tell  us  if  it  seems  to  you  fair  that  this 
Tiger  should  eat  me  up,  when  I  have  just 
saved  him  from  a  frightful  cage  ?" 

The  Eagle  soared  slowly  overhead  a 
moment,  then  he  came  lower,  and  spoke 
in  a  thin,  clear  voice. 

"I  live  high  in  the  air,"  he  said,  "and  I 
do  no  man  any  harm.  Yet  as  often  as  they 
find  my  eyrie,  men  stone  my  young  and  rob 
my  nest  and  shoot  at  me  with  arrows. 
Men  are  a  cruel  breed.  Let  the  Tiger  eat 
the  Brahmin!" 

The  Tiger  sprang  upon  the  Brahmin, 
to  eat  him  up;  and  this  time  the  Brahmin 
had  very  hard  work  to  persuade  him  to 
wait.  At  last  he  did  persuade  him,  how- 
ever, and  they  walked  on   together.    And 


BRAHMIN,   TIGER,   AND  JACKAL       121 

in  a  little  while  they  saw  an  old  Alligator, 
lying  half  buried  in  mud  and  slime,  at  the 
river's  edge. 

"Brother  Alligator,  oh,  Brother  Alliga- 
tor!"  said  the  Brahmin,  "does  it  seem 
at  all  right  or  fair  to  you  that  this  Tiger 
should  eat  me  up,  when  I  have  just  now 
let  him  out  of  a  cage  ?" 

The  old  Alligator  turned  in  the  mud, 
and  grunted,  and  snorted;  then  he  said, — 

"I  lie  here  in  the  mud  all  day,  as  harm- 
less as  a  pigeon;  I  hunt  no  man,  yet  every 
time  a  man  sees  me,  he  throws  stones  at 
me,  and  pokes  me  with  sharp  sticks,  and 
jeers  at  me.  Men  are  a  worthless  lot.  Let 
the  Tiger  eat  the  Brahmin!" 

At  this  the  Tiger  was  bound  to  eat  the 
Brahmin  at  once.  The  poor  Brahmin 
had  to  remind  him,  again  and  again,  that 
they  had  asked  only  four. 

"Wait  till  we've  asked  one  more!  Wait 
until  we  see  a  fifth!"  he  begged. 

Finally,  the  Tiger  walked  on  with  him. 

After  a  time,  they  met  the  little  Jackal, 
coming  gayly  down  the  road  toward  them. 

"Oh,  Brother  Jackal,  dear  Brother 
Jackal,"  said  the  Brahmin,  "give  us  your 


122     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

opinion !  Do  you  think  it  right  or  fair  that 
this  Tiger  should  eat  me,  when  I  set  him 
free  from  a  terrible  cage?" 

"Beg  pardon?"  said  the  little  Jackal. 

"I  said,"  said  the  Brahmin,  raising  his 
voice,  "do  you  think  it  is  fair  that  the 
Tiger  should  eat  me,  when  I  set  him  free 
from  his  cage?" 

"  Cage  ?"  said  the  little  Jackal,  vacantly. 

"Yes,  yes,  his  cage,"  said  the  Brah- 
min. "We  want  your  opinion.  Do  you 
think  —  " 

"Oh,"  said  the  little  Jackal,  "you  want 
my  opinion  ?  Then  may  I  beg  you  to  speak 
a  little  more  loudly,  and  make  the  matter 
quite  clear?  I  am  a  little  slow  of  under- 
standing.   Now  what  was  it?" 

"Do  you  think,"  said  the  Brahmin,  "it 
is  right  for  this  Tiger  to  eat  me,  when  1 
set  him  free  from  his  cage  ?" 

"What  cage  ?"  said  the  little  Jackal. 

"Why,  the  cage  he  was  in,"  said  the 
Brahmin.  "You  see — " 

"But  I  don't  altogether  understand," 
said  the  little  Jackal,  "You  'set  him  free,' 
you  say?" 

"Yes,    yes,    yes!"    said    the    Brahmin. 


BRAHMIN,  TIGER,  AND  JACKAL        US 

M It  was  this  way:  I  was  walking  atong, 
and  I  saw  the  Tiger  — " 

"Oh,  dear,  dear!"  interrupted  the  little 
Jackal;  "I  never  can  see  through  it,  if  you 
go  on  like  that,  with  a  long,  story.  If  you 
really  want  my  opinion  you  must  make  the 
matter  clear.    What  sort  of  cage  was  it?" 

"Why,  a  big,  ordinary  cage,  an  iron 
cage,"  said  the  Brahmin. 

"That  gives  me  no  idea  at  all,"  said  the 
little  Jackal.  "See  here,  my  friends,  if  we 
are  to  get  on  with  this  matter  you'd  best 
show  me  the  spot.  Then  I  can  understand 
in  a  jiffy.  Show  me  the  cage." 

So  the  Brahmin,  the  Tiger,  and  the  little 
Jackal  walked  back  together  to  the  spot 
where  the  cage  was. 

"Now,  let  us  understand  the  situation," 
said  the  little  Jackal.  "Brahmin,  where 
were  you?" 

"I  stood  here  by  the  roadside,"  said  the 
Brahmin. 

"Tiger,  where  were  you  ?"  said  the  little 
Jackal. 

"Why,  in  the  cage,  of  course,"  roared 
the  Tiger. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Father  Tiger," 


124     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

said  the  little  Jackal,  "I  really  am  so  stupid ; 
I  cannot  quite  understand  what  happened. 
If  you  will  have  a  little  patience,  —  how 
were  you  in  the  cage?  What  position 
were  you  in?" 

"I  stood  here,"  said  the  Tiger,  leaping 
into  the  cage,  "with  my  head  over  my 
shoulder,  so." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  the 
little  Jackal,  "  that  makes  it  much  clearer; 
but  I  still  don't  quite  understand  —  forgive 
my  slow  mind  —  why  did  you  not  come 
out,  by  yourself?" 

"Can't  you  see  that  the  door  shut  me 
in?"  said  the  Tiger. 

"Oh,  I  do  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the 
little  Jackal.  "I  know  I  am  very  slow;  I 
can  never  understand  things  well  unless  I 
see  just  how  they  were;  if  you  could  show 
me  now  exactly  how  that  door  works  I  am 
sure  I  could  understand.  How  does  it 
shut?" 

"It  shuts  like  this,"  said  the  Brahmin, 
pushing  it  to. 

"Yes;  but  I  don't  see  any  lock,"  said 
the  little  Jackal,  "does  it  lock  on  the 
outside?" 


THE   JACKAL  AND  THE  CAMEL        125 

"It  locks  like  this,"  said  the  Brahmin. 
And  he  shut  and  bolted  the  door! 

"Oh,  does  it,  indeed?"  said  the  little 
Jackal.  "Does  it,  indeed!  Well,  Brother 
Brahmin,  now  that  it  is  locked,  I  should 
advise  you  to  let  it  stay  locked!  As  for 
you,  my  friend,"  he  said  to  the  Tiger,  "I 
think  you  will  wait  a  good  while  before 
you'll  find  any  one  to  let  you  out  again!" 
Then  he  made  a  very  low  bow  to  the 
Brahmin. 

"Good-by,  Brother,"  he  said.  "Your 
way  lies  that  way,  and  mine  lies  this; 
good-by!" 

THE    LITTLE    JACKAL  AND   THE 
CAMEL 

All  these  stories  about  the  little  Jackal 
that  I  have  told  you,  show  how  clever  the 
little  Jackal  was.  But  you  know  —  if  you 
don't,  you  will  when  you  are  grown  up  — 
that  no  matter  how  clever  you  are,  sooner 
or  later  you  surely  meet  some  one  who  is 
cleverer.  It  is  always  so  in  life.  And  it 
was  so  with  the  little  Jackal.  This  is  what 
happened. 


126     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

The  little  Jackal  was,  as  you  know,  ex- 
ceedingly fond  of  shell-fish,  especially  of 
river  crabs.  Now  there  came  a  time  when 
he  had  eaten  all  the  crabs  to  be  found  on 
his  own  side  of  the  river.  He  knew  there 
must  be  plenty  on  the  other  side,  if  he 
could  only  get  to  them,  but  he  could  not 
swim. 

One  day  he  thought  of  a  plan.  He  went 
to  his  friend  the  Camel,  and  said, — 

"Friend  Camel,  I  know  a  spot  where  the 
sugar-cane  grows  thick;  I'll  show  you  the 
way,  if  you  will  take  me  there." 

"Indeed  I  will,"  said  the  Camel,  who 
was  very  fond  of  sugar-cane.  "Where  is 
it?" 

"It  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  river," 
said  the  little  Jackal;  "but  we  can  manage 
it  nicely,  if  you  will  take  me  on  your  back 
and  swim  over." 

The  Camel  was  perfectly  willing,  so  the 
little  Jackal  jumped  on  his  back,  and  the 
Camel  swam  across  the  river,  carrying  him. 
When  they  were  safely  over,  the  little  Jackal 
jumped  down  and  showed  the  Camel  the 
sugar-cane  field;  then  he  ran  swiftly 
along  the  river  bank,  to  hunt  for  crabs; 


THE    JACKAL  AND  THE  CAMEL       12? 

the  Camel  began  to  eat  sugar-cane.  He  ate 
happily,  and  noticed  nothing  around  him. 

Now,  you  know,  a  Camel  is  very  big, 
and  a  Jackal  is  very  little.  Consequently, 
the  little  Jackal  had  eaten  his  fill  by  the 
time  the  Camel  had  barely  taken  a  mouth- 
ful. The  little  Jackal  had  no  mind  to  wait 
for  his  slow  friend;  he  wanted  to  be  off 
home  again,  about  his  business.  So  he  ran 
round  and  round  the  sugar-cane  field,  and 
as  he  ran  he  sang  and  shouted,  and  made 
a  great  hullabaloo. 

Of  course,  the  villagers  heard  him  at 
once. 

"There  is  a  Jackal  in  the  sugar-cane," 
they  said;  "he  will  dig  holes  and  destroy 
the  roots ;  we  must  go  down  and  drive  him 
out."  So  they  came  down,  with  sticks  and 
stones.  When  they  got  there,  there  was  no 
Jackal  to  be  seen;  but  they  saw  the  great 
Camel,  eating  away  at  the  juicy  sugar- 
cane. They  ran  at  him  and  beat  him,  and 
stoned  him,  and  drove  him  away  half 
dead. 

When  they  had  gone,  leaving  the  poor 
Camel  half  killed,  the  little  Jackal  came 
dancing  back  from  somewhere  or  other. 


128     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

"I  think  it's  time  to  go  home,  now,"  he 
said;   "don't   you?" 

"Well,  you  are  a  pretty  friend!"  said  the 
Camel.  "The  idea  of  your  making  such 
a  noise,  with  your  shouting  and  singing! 
You  brought  this  upon  me.  What  in  the 
world  made  you  do  it  ?  Why  did  you  shout 
and  sing?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  why,"  said  the  little 
Jackal,  —  "I  always  sing  after  dinner!" 

"So?"  said  the  Camel,  "Ah,  very  well, 
let  us  go  home  now." 

He  took  the  little  Jackal  kindly  on  his 
back  and  started  into  the  water.  When 
he  began  to  swim  he  swam  out  to  where 
the  river  was  the  very  deepest.  There  he 
stopped,  and  said, — 

"Oh,  Jackal!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  little  Jackal. 

"I  have  the  strangest  feeling,"  said  the 
Camel,  —  "I  feel  as  if  I  must  roll  over." 

"'Roll  over'!"  cried  the  Jackal.  "My 
goodness,  don't  do  that!  If  you  do  that, 
you  '11  drown  me !  What  in  the  world  makes 
you  want  to  do  such  a  crazy  thing  ?  Why 
should  you  want  to  roll  over?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  why"  said  the  Camel 


THE  GULLS  OF  SALT  LAKE  129 

slowly,  "but  I  always  roll  over  after  din- 
ner!" 

So  he  rolled  over. 

And  the  little  Jackal  was  drowned,  foi 
his  sins,  but  the  Camel  came  safely  home. 

THE    GULLS   OF   SALT   LAKE 

The  story  I  am  going  to  tell  you  is  about 
something  that  really  happened,  many 
years  ago,  when  most  of  the  mothers  and 
fathers  of  the  children  here  were  not  born, 
themselves.  At  that  time,  nearly  all  the 
people  in  the  United  States  lived  between 
the  Atlantic  Ocean  and  the  Mississippi 
River.  Beyond  were  plains,  reaching  to  the 
foot  of  the  mighty  Rocky  Mountains,  where 
Indians  and  wild  beasts  roamed.  The  only 
white  men  there  were  a  few  hunters  and 
trappers. 

One  year  a  brave  little  company  of  peo- 
ple traveled  across  the  plains  in  big  cov- 
ered wagons  with  many  horses,  and  finally 
succeeded  in  climbing  to  the  top  of  the 
great  Rockies  and  down  again  into  a  val- 
ley in  the  very  midst  of  the  mountains.  It 
was  a  valley  of  brown,  bare,  desert  soil, 


130     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

in  a  climate  where  almost  no  rain  falls; 
but  the  snows  on  the  mountain-tops  sent 
down  little  streams  of  pure  water,  the  winds 
were  gentle,  and  lying  like  a  blue  jewel  at 
the  foot  of  the  western  hills  was  a  marvel- 
ous lake  of  salt  water,  —  an  inland  sea. 
So  the  pioneers  settled  there  and  built  them 
huts  and  cabins  for  the  first  winter. 

It  had  taken  them  many  months  to  make 
the  terrible  journey;  many  had  died  of 
weariness  and  illness  on  the  way;  many 
died  of  hardship  during  the  winter;  and  the 
provisions  they  had  brought  in  their  wagons 
were  so  nearly  gone  that,  by  spring,  they 
were  living  partly  on  roots,  dug  from  the 
ground.  All  their  lives  now  depended  on 
the  crops  of  grain  and  vegetables  which 
they  could  raise  in  the  valley.  They  made 
the  barren  land  good  by  spreading  water 
from  the  little  streams  over  it,  —  what  we 
call  "irrigating;"  and  they  planted  enough 
corn  and  grain  and  vegetables  for  all  the 
people.  Every  one  helped,  and  every  one 
watched  for  the  sprouting,  with  hopes,  and 
prayers,  and  careful  eyes. 

In  good  time  the  seeds  sprouted,  and 
the  dry,  brown  earth  was  covered  with  a 


THE  GULLS  OF  SALT  LAKE  131 

carpet  of  tender,  green,  growing  things. 
No  farmer's  garden  at  home  in  the  East 
could  have  looked  better  than  the  great 
garden  of  the  desert  valley.  And  from  day 
to  day  the  little  shoots  grew  and  flourished 
till  they  were  all  well  above  the  ground. 

Then  a  terrible  thing  happened.  One 
day  the  men  who  were  watering  the  crops 
saw  a  great  number  of  crickets  swarming 
over  the  ground  at  the  edge  of  the  gardens 
nearest  the  mountains.  They  were  hopping 
from  the  barren  places  into  the  young, 
green  crops,  and  as  they  settled  down  they 
ate  the  tiny  shoots  and  leaves  to  the  ground. 
More  came,  and  more,  and  ever  more,  and 
as  they  came  they  spread  out  till  they  cov- 
ered a  big  corner  of  the  grain  field.  And 
still  more  and  more,  till  it  was  like  an 
army  of  black,  hopping,  crawling  crickets, 
streaming  down  the  side  of  the  mountain 
to  kill  the  crops. 

The  men  tried  to  kill  the  crickets  by 
beating  the  ground,  but  the  numbers  were 
so  great  that  it  was  like  beating  at  the  sea. 
Then  they  ran  and  told  the  terrible  news, 
and  all  the  village  came  to  help.  They 
started  fires;  they  dug  trenches  and  filled 


132     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

them  with  water;  they  ran  wildly  about  in 
the  fields,  killing  what  they  could.  But 
while  they  fought  in  one  place  new  armies 
of  crickets  marched  down  the  mountain- 
sides and  attacked  the  fields  in  other  places. 
And  at  last  the  people  fell  on  their  knees 
and  wept  and  cried  in  despair,  for  they  saw 
starvation  and  death  in  the  fields. 

A  few  knelt  to  pray.  Others  gathered 
round  and  joined  them,  weeping.  More 
left  their  useless  struggles  and  knelt  be- 
side their  neighbors.  At  last  nearly  all  the 
people  were  kneeling  on  the  desolate  fields 
praying  for  deliverance  from  the  plague  of 
crickets. 

Suddenly,  from  far  off  in  the  air  toward 
the  great  salt  lake,  there  was  the  sound 
of  flapping  wings.  It  grew  louder.  Some 
of  the  people  looked  up,  startled.  They 
saw,  like  a  white  cloud  rising  from  the  lake, 
a  flock  of  sea  gulls  flying  toward  them. 
Snow-white  in  the  sun,  with  great  wings 
beating  and  soaring,  in  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds, they  rose  and  circled  and  came  on. 

"The  gulls!  the  gulls!"  was  the  cry. 
"What  does  it  mean?" 

The  gulls  flew  overhead,  with  a    shrill 


THE  GULLS  OF  SALT  LAKE  133 

chorus  of  whimpering  cries,  and  then,  in 
a  marvelous  white  cloud  of  spread  wings 
and  hovering  breasts,  they  settled  down 
over  the  seeded  ground. 

"Oh!  woe!  woe!"  cried  the  people. 
"  The  gulls  are  eating  what  the  crickets 
have  left!  they  will  strip  root  and  branch!" 

But  all  at  once,  some  one  called  out, — 

"No,  no!  See!  they  are  eating  the 
crickets !  They  are  eating  only  the  crickets !" 

It  was  true.  The  gulls  devoured  the 
crickets  in  dozens,  in  hundreds,  in  swarms. 
They  ate  until  they  were  gorged,  and  then 
they  flew  heavily  back  to  the  lake,  only  to 
come  again  with  new  appetite.  And  when 
at  last  they  finished,  they  had  stripped  the 
fields  of  the  cricket  army;  and  the  people 
were  saved. 

To  this  day,  in  the  beautiful  city  of  Salt 
Lake,  which  grew  out  of  that  pioneer  vil- 
lage, the  little  children  are  taught  to  love 
the  sea  gulls.  And  when  they  learn  draw- 
ing and  weaving  in  the  schools,  their  first 
design  is  often  a  picture  of  a  cricket  and  a 
gull. 


134     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 


THE   NIGHTINGALE1 

A  long,  long  time  ago,  as  long  ago  as  when 
there  were  fairies,  there  lived  an  emperor 
in  China,  who  had  a  most  beautiful  palace, 
all  made  of  crystal.  Outside  the  palace 
was  the  loveliest  garden  in  the  whole  world, 
and  farther  away  was  a  forest  where  the 
trees  were  taller  than  any  other  trees  in  the 
world,  and  farther  away,  still,  was  a  deep 
wood.  And  in  this  wood  lived  a  little  Night- 
ingale. The  Nightingale  sang  so  beauti- 
fully that  everybody  who  heard  her  re- 
membered her  song  better  than  anything 
else  that  he  heard  or  saw.  People  came 
from  all  over  the  world  to  see  the  crystal 
palace  and  the  wonderful  garden  and  the 
great  forest;  but  when  they  went  home 
and  wrote  books  about  these  things  they 
always  wrote,  "But  the  Nightingale  is  the 
best  of  all." 

At  last  it  happened  that  the  Emperor 
came  upon  a  book  which  said  this,  and  he 
at  once  sent  for  his  Chamberlain. 

"Who  is  this  Nightingale?"  said  the 

1  Adapted  from  Hans  Christian  Andersen. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE  135 

Emperor.    "Why  have  I  never  heard  him 
sing?" 

The  Chamberlain,  who  was  a  very  im- 
portant person,  said,  "There  cannot  be 
any  such  person;  I  have  never  heard  his 
name." 

"The  book  says  there  is  a  Nightingale," 
said  the  Emperor.  "I  command  that  the 
Nightingale  be  brought  here  to  sing  for  me 
this  evening." 

The  Chamberlain  went  out  and  asked 
all  the  great  lords  and  ladies  and  pages 
where  the  Nightingale  could  be  found,  but 
not  one  of  them  had  ever  heard  of  him. 
So  the  Chamberlain  went  back  to  the  Em- 
peror and  said,  "There  is  no  such  person." 

"The  book  says  there  is  a  Nightingale," 
said  the  Emperor;  "if  the:  Nightingale  is 
not  here  to  sing  for  me  this  evening  I  will 
have  the  court  trampled  upon,  immedi- 
ately after  supper." 

The  Chamberlain  did  not  want  to  be 
trampled  upon,  so  he  ran  out  and  asked 
everybody  in  the  palace  about  the  Nightin- 
gale. At  last,  a  little  girl  who  worked  in 
the  kitchen  to  help  the  cook's  helper,  said, 
"Oh,  yes,  I  know  the   Nightingale    very 


136     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

well.  Every  night,  when  I  go  to  carry 
scraps  from  the  kitchen  to  my  mother, 
who  lives  in  the  wood  beyond  the  forest, 
I  hear  the  Nightingale  sing." 

The  Chamberlain  asked  the  little  cook- 
maid  to  take  him  to  the  Nightingale's 
home,  and  many  of  the  lords  and  ladies 
followed  after.  When  they  had  gone  a 
little  way,  they  heard  a  cow  moo. 

"Ah!"  said  the  lords  and  ladies,  "that 
must  be  the  Nightingale;  what  a  large 
voice  for  so  small  a  creature!" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  little  girl,  "that  is 
just  a  cow,  mooing." 

A  little  farther  on  they  heard  some  bull- 
frogs, in  a  swamp.  "Surely  that  is  the 
Nightingale,"  said  the  courtiers;  "it  really 
sounds  like  church-bells!" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  little  girl,  "those  are 
bullfrogs,  croaking." 

At  last  they  came  to  the  wood  where  the 
Nightingale  was.  "Hush!"  said  the  little 
girl,  "she  is  going  to  sing."  And,  sure 
enough,  the  little  Nightingale  began  to 
sing.  She  sang  so  beautifully  that  you 
have  never  in  all  your  life  heard  anything 
like  it. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE  137 

"Dear,  dear,"  said  the  courtiers,  "that 
is  very  pleasant;  does  that  little  gray  bird 
really  make  all  that  noise  ?  She  is  so  pale 
that  I  think  she  has  lost  her  color  for  fear 
of  us." 

The  Chamberlain  asked  the  little  Night- 
ingale to  come  and  sing  for  the  Emperor. 
The  little  Nightingale  said  she  could  sing 
better  in  her  own  greenwood,  but  she  was 
so  sweet  and  kind  that  she  came  with  them. 

That  evening  the  palace  was  all  trimmed 
with  the  most  beautiful  flowers  you  can 
imagine,  and  rows  and  rows  of  little  sil- 
ver bells,  that  tinkled  when  the  wind  blew 
in,  and  hundreds  and  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  wax  candles,  that  shone  like  tiny 
stars.  In  the  great  hall  there  was  a  gold 
perch  for  the  Nightingale,  beside  the  Em- 
peror's throne. 

When  all  the  people  were  there,  the  Em- 
peror asked  the  Nightingale  to  sing.  Then 
the  little  gray  Nightingale  filled  her  throat 
full,  and  sang.  And,  my  dears,  she  sang 
so  beautifully  that  the  Emperor's  eyes 
filled  up  with  tears!  And,  you  know,  em- 
perors do  not  cry  at  all  easily.  So  he  asked 
her  to  sing  again,  and  this  time  she  sang 


138     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

so  marvelously  that  the  tears  came  out  of 
his  eyes  and  ran  down  his  cheeks.  That 
was  a  great  success.  They  asked  the  little 
Nightingale  to  sing,  over  and  over  again, 
and  when  they  had  listened  enough  the 
Emperor  said  that  she  should  be  made 
"Singer  in  Chief  to  the  Court."  She  was 
to  have  a  golden  perch  near  the  Emper- 
or's bed,  and  a  little  gold  cage,  and  was 
to  be  allowed  to  go  out  twice  every  day. 
But  there  were  twelve  servants  appointed 
to  wait  on  her,  and  those  twelve  servants 
went  with  her  every  time  she  went  out,  and 
each  of  the  twelve  had  hold  of  the  end 
of  a  silken  string  which  was  tied  to  the 
little  Nightingale's  leg!  It  was  not  so  very 
much  fun  to  go  out  that  way! 

For  a  long,  long  time  the  Nightingale 
sang  every  evening  to  the  Emperor  and  his 
court,  and  they  liked  her  so  much .  that 
the  ladies  all  tried  to  sound  like  her;  they 
used  to  put  water  in  their  mouths  and  then 
make  little  sounds  like  this:  glu-glu-glug . 
And  when  the  courtiers  met  each  other  in 
the  halls,  one  would  say  "Night,"  and 
the  other  would  say  "ingale,"  and  that 
was  conversation. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE  139 

At  last,  one  day,  there  came  a  little  pack- 
age to  the  Emperor,  on  the  outside  of  which 
was  written,  "The  Nightingale."  Inside 
was  an  artificial  bird,  something  like  a 
Nightingale,  only  it  was  made  of  gold,  and 
silver,  and  rubies,  and  emeralds,  and  dia- 
monds. When  it  was  wound  up  it  played 
a  waltz  tune,  and  as  it  played  it  moved  its 
little  tail  up  and  down.  Everybody  in  the 
court  was  filled  with  delight  at  the  music 
of  the  new  nightingale.  They  made  it  sing 
that  same  tune  thirty-three  times,  and  still 
they  had  not  had  enough.  They  would 
have  made  it  sing  the  tune  thirty-four  times, 
but  the  Emperor  said,  "I  should  like  to 
hear  the  real  Nightingale  sing,  now." 

But  when  they  looked  about  for  the  real 
little  Nightingale,  they  could  not  find  her 
anywhere!  She  had  taken  the  chance, 
while  everybody  was  listening  to  the  waltz 
tunes,  to  fly  away  through  the  window  to 
her  own  greenwood. 

"What  a  very  ungrateful  bird!  "  said  the 
lords  and  ladies.  "But  it  does  not  matter; 
the  new  nightingale  is  just  as  good." 

So  the  artificial  nightingale  was  given 
the  real  Nightingale's  little  gold  perch,  and 


140     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

every  night  the  Emperor  wound  her  up, 
and  she  sang  waltz  tunes  to  him.  The 
people  in  the  court  liked  her  even  better 
than  the  old  Nightingale,  because  they 
could  all  whistle  her  tunes,  —  which  you 
can't  do  with  real  nightingales. 

About  a  year  after  the  artificial  night- 
ingale came,  the  Emperor  was  listening  tc 
her  waltz-tune,  when  there  was  a  snap 
and  whir-r-r  inside  the  bird,  and  the  music 
stopped.  The  Emperor  ran  to  his  doctor, 
but  he  could  not  do  anything.  Then  he 
ran  to  his  clock-maker,  but  he  could  not 
do  much.  Nobody  could  do  much.  The 
best  they  could  do  was  to  patch  the  gold 
nightingale  up  so  that  it  could  sing  once 
a  year;  even  that  was  almost  too  much, 
and  the  tune  was  pretty  shaky.  Still,  the 
Emperor  kept  the  gold  nightingale  on  the 
perch  in  his  own  room. 

A  long  time  went  by,  and  then,  at  last, 
the  Emperor  grew  very  ill,  and  was  about 
to  die.  When  it  was  sure  that  he  could 
not  live  much  longer,  the  people  chose  a 
new  emperor  and  waited  for  the  old  one 
to  die.  The  poor  Emperor  lay,  quite  cold 
and  pale,  in  his  great  big  bed,  with  velvet 


THE  NIGHTINGALE  141 

curtains,  and  tall  candlesticks  all  about. 
He  was  quite  alone,  for  all  the  courtiers 
had  gone  to  congratulate  the  new  emperor, 
and  all  the  servants  had  gone  to  talk  it 
over. 

When  the  Emperor  woke  up,  he  felt  a 
terrible  weight  on  his  chest.  He  opened 
his  eyes,  and  there  was  Death,  sitting  on 
his  heart.  Death  had  put  on  the  Emperor's 
gold  crown,  and  he  had  the  gold  sceptre  in 
one  hand,  and  the  silken  banner  in  the 
other;  and  he  looked  at  the  Emperor  with 
his  great  hollow  eyes.  The  room  was  full 
of  shadows,  and  the  shadows  were  full  of 
faces.  Everywhere  the  Emperor  looked, 
there  were  faces.  Some  were  very,  very 
ugly,  and  some  were  sweet  and  lovely; 
they  were  all  the  things  the  Emperor  had 
done  in  his  life,  good  and  bad.  And  as  he 
looked  at  them  they  began  to  whisper. 
They  whispered,  "Do  you  remember  this ?" 
"  Do  you  remember  that  ? ' '  The  Emperor  re- 
membered so  much  that  he  cried  out  loud, 
"Oh.  bring  the  great  drum!  Make  music, 
so  that  I  may  not  hear  these  dreadful 
whispers!"  But  there  was  nobody  there 
to  bring  the  drum. 


142     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

Then  the  Emperor  cried,  "You  little 
gold  nightingale,  can  you  not  sing  some- 
thing for  me  ?  I  have  given  you  gifts  of 
gold  and  jewels,  and  kept  you  always  by 
my  side;  will  you  not  help  me  now?"  But 
there  was  nobody  to  wind  the  little  gold 
nightingale  up,  and  of  course  it  could  not 
sing. 

The  Emperor's  heart  grew  colder  and 
colder  where  Death  crouched  upon  it, 
and  the  dreadful  whispers  grew  louder  and 
louder,  and  the  Emperor's  life  was  almost 
gone.  Suddenly,  through  the  open  window, 
there  came  a  most  lovely  song.  It  was  so 
sweet  and  so  loud  that  the  whispers  died 
quite  away.  Presently  the  Emperor  felt 
his  heart  grow  warm,  then  he  felt  the  blood 
flow  through  his  limbs  again;  he  listened 
to  the  song  until  the  tears  ran  down  his 
cheeks;  he  knew  that  it  was  the  little  real 
Nightingale  who  had  flown  away  from  him 
when  the  gold  nightingale  came. 

Death  was  listening  to  the  song,  too; 
and  when  it  was  done  and  the  Emperor 
begged  for  more,  Death,  too,  said,  "Please 
sing  again,  little  Nightingale!" 

"Will  you  giye  me  the  Emperor's  gold 


THE   NIGHTINGALE  143 

crown  for  a  song?"  said  the  little  Nightin- 
gale. 

"Yes,"  said  Death;  and  the  little  Night- 
ingale bought  the  Emperor's  crown  for  a 
song. 

"Oh,  sing  again,  little  Nightingale," 
begged  Death. 

"Will  you  give  me  the  Emperor's  sceptre 
for  another  song?"  said  the  little  gray 
Nightingale. 

"Yes,"  said  Death;  and  the  little  Night- 
ingale bought  the  Emperor's  sceptre  for 
another  song. 

Once  more  Death  begged  for  a  song, 
and  this  time  the  little  Nightingale  got  the 
banner  for  her  singing.  Then  she  sang  one 
more  song,  so  sweet  and  so  sad  that  it 
made  Death  think  of  his  garden  in  the 
churchyard,  where  he  always  liked  best 
to  be.  And  he  rose  from  the  Emperor's 
heart  and  floated  away  through  the  window. 

When  Death  was  gone,  the  Emperor 
said  to  the  little  Nightingale,  "Oh,  dear 
little  Nightingale,  you  have  saved  me  from 
Death!  Do  not  leave  me  again.  Stay  with 
me  on  this  little  gold  perch,  and  sing  to  me 
always!" 


144     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

"No,  dear  Emperor,"  said  the  little 
Nightingale,  "I  sing  best  when  I  am  free; 
I  cannot  live  in  a  palace.  But  every  night 
when  you  are  quite  alone,  I  will  come 
and  sit  in  the  window  and  sing  to  you,  and 
tell  you  everything  that  goes  on  in  your 
kingdom :  I  will  tell  you  where  the  poor 
people  are  who  ought  to  be  helped,  and 
where  the  wicked  people  are  who  ought 
to  be  punished.  Only,  dear  Emperor,  be 
sure  that  you  never  let  anybody  know  that 
you  have  a  little  bird  who  tells  you  every- 
thing." 

After  the  little  Nightingale  had  flown 
away,  the  Emperor  felt  so  well  and  strong 
that  he  dressed  himself  in  his  royal  robes 
and  took  his  gold  sceptre  in  his  hand. 
And  when  the  courtiers  came  in  to  see  if  he 
were  dead,  there  stood  the  Emperor  with 
his  sword  in  one  hand  and  his  sceptre  in 
the  other,  and  said,  "Good-morning!" 


MARGERY'S  GARDEN  146 


MARGERY'S  GARDEN1 

There  was  once  a  little  girl  named  Mar- 
gery, who  had  always  lived  in  the  city. 
The  flat  where  her  mother  and  father  lived 
was  at  the  top  of  a  big  apartment-house, 
and  you  could  n't  see  a  great  deal  from  the 
windows,  except  clothes-lines  on  other  peo- 
ple's roofs.  Margery  did  not  know  much 
about  trees  and  flowers,  but  she  loved 
them  dearly;  whenever  it  was  a  pleasant 
Sunday  she  used  to  go  with  her  mother 
and  father  to  the  park  and  look  at  the 
lovely  flower-beds.    They  seemed  always 

1  I  have  always  been  inclined  to  avoid,  in  my  work  among 
children,  the  "how  to  make"  and  "how  to  do"  kind  of  story; 
it  is  too  likely  to  trespass  on  the  ground  belonging  by  right  to 
its  more  artistic  and  less  intentional  kinsfolk.  Nevertheless, 
there  is  a  legitimate  place  for  the  instruction-story.  Within  its 
own  limits,  and  especially  in  a  school  use,  it  has  a  real  purpose 
to  serve,  and  a  real  desire  to  meet.  Children  have  a  genuine 
taste  for  such  morsels  of  practical  information,  if  the  bites 
are  n't  made  too  big  and  too  solid.  And  to  the  teacher  of  the 
first  grades,  from  whom  so  much  is  demanded  in  the  way  of 
practical  instruction,  I  know  that  these  stories  are  a  boon.  They 
must  be  chosen  with  care,  and  used  with  discretion,  but  they  need 
never  be  ignored. 

I  venture  to  give  some  little  stories  of  this  type,  which  I  hope 
may  be  of  use  in  the  schools  where  country  life  and  country 
work  is  an  unknown  experience  to  the  children. 


146     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

to  be  finished,  though,  and  Margery 
was  always  wishing  she  could  see  them 
grow. 

One  spring,  when  Margery  was  nine, 
her  father's  work  changed  so  that  he  could 
move  into  the  country,  and  he  took  a  little 
house  a  short  distance  outside  the  town 
where  his  new  position  was.  Margery  was 
delighted.  And  the  very  first  thing  she 
said,  when  her  father  told  her  about  it, 
was,  "Oh,  may  I  have  a  garden?  May 
I  have  a  garden?" 

Margery's  mother  was  almost  as  eager 
for  a  garden  as  she  was,  and  Margery's 
father  said  he  expected  to  live  on  their 
vegetables  all  the  rest  of  his  life !  So  it  was 
soon  agreed  that  the  garden  should  be  the 
first  thing  attended  to. 

Behind  the  little  house  were  apple  trees, 
a  plum  tree,  and  two  or  three  pear  trees; 
then  came  a  stretch  of  rough  grass,  and 
then  a  stone  wall,  with  a  gate  leading  into 
the  pasture.  It  was  in  the  grassy  land  that 
the  garden  was  to  be.  A  big  piece  was  to  be 
used  for  corn  and  peas  and  beans,  and  a 
little  piece  at  the  end  was  to  be  saved  for 
Margery. 


MARGERY'S  GARDEN  147 

"What  shall  we  have  in  it?"  asked  her 
mother. 

"Flowers,"  said  Margery,  with  shining 
eyes,  —  "blue,  and  white,  and  yellow,  and 
pink, —  every  kind  of  flower!" 

"Surely,  flowers,"  said  her  mother, 
"  and  shall  we  not  have  a  little  salad  garden 
in  the  midst,  as  they  do  in  England  ?" 

"What  is  a  salad  garden?"  Margery 
asked. 

"It  is  a  garden  where  you  have  all  the 
things  that  make  nice  salad,"  said  her 
mother,  laughing,  for  Margery  was  fond  of 
salads;  "you  have  lettuce,  and  endive,  and 
romaine,  and  parsley,  and  radishes,  and 
cucumbers,  and  perhaps  little  beets  and 
young  onions. 

"Oh!  how  good  it  sounds!"  said  Mar- 
gery.   "I  vote  for  the  salad  garden." 

That  very  evening,  Margery's  father  took 
pencil  and  paper,  and  drew  out  a  plan  for 
her  garden;  first,  they  talked  it  all  over, 
then  he  drew  what  they  decided  on;  it 
looked  like  the  diagram  on  the  next  page. 

"The  outside  strip  is  for  flowers,"  said 
Margery's  father,  "and  the  next  marks 
mean  a   footpath,  all  the  way  round  the 


148     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

beds;  that  is  so  you  can  get  at  the  flowers 
to  weed  and  to  pick;  there  is  a  wider  path 
through  the  middle,  and  the  rest  is  all  for 
rows  of  salad  vegetables." 

"Papa,  it  is  glorious !"  said  Margery. 

Papa  laughed.  "I  hope  you  will  still 
think  it  glorious  when    the  weeding  time 


comes,"  he  said,  "for  you  know,  you  and 
mother  have  promised  to  take  care  of  this 
garden,  while  I  take  care  of  the  big  one." 

"I  would  n't  not  take  care  of  it  for  any- 
thing!" said  Margery.  "I  want  to  feel  that 
it  is  my  very  own." 

Her  father  kissed  her,  and  said  it  was 
certainly  her  "very  own." 


MARGERY'S  GARDEN  14S 

Two  evenings  after  that,  when  Margery 
was  called  in  from  her  first  ramble  in  a 
"really,  truly  pasture,"  she  found  the 
expressman  at  the  door  of  the  little  house. 

"Something  for  you,  Margery,"  said 
her  mother,  with  the  look  she  had  when 
something  nice  was  happening. 

It  was  a  box,  quite  a  big  box,  with  a 
label  on  it  that  said :  — 

Miss  Margery  Brown, 

Woodville,  Mass. 

From  Seeds  and  Plants  Company,  Boston. 

Margery  could  hardly  wait  to  open  it. 
It  was  filled  with  little  packages,  all  with 
printed  labels;  and  in  the  packages,  of 
course,  were  seeds.  It  made  Margery 
dance,  just  to  read  the  names,  —  nastur- 
tium, giant  helianthus,  coreopsis,  calen- 
dula, Canterbury  bells:  more  names  than 
I  can  tell  you,  and  other  packages,  big- 
ger, that  said,  "Peas  :  Dwarf  Telephone," 
and  "Sweet  Corn,"  and  such  things!  Mar- 
gery could  almost  smell  the  posies,  she 
was  so  excited.  Only,  she  had  seen  so 
little  of  flowers  that  she  did  not  always 
know  what  the  names  meant.   She  did  not 


150     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

know  that  a  helianthus  was  a  sunflower 
till  her  mother  told  her,  and  she  had  never 
seen  the  dear,  blue,  bell-shaped  flowers 
that  always  grow  in  old-fashioned  gardens, 
and  are  called  Canterbury  bells.  She 
thought  the  calendula  must  be  a  strange, 
grand  flower,  by  its  name;  but  her  mother 
told  her  it  was  the  gay,  sturdy,  every-day- 
ish  little  posy  called  a  marigold.  There  was 
a  great  deal  for  a  little  city  girl  to  be  sur- 
prised about*  and  it  did  seem  as  if  morning 
was  a  long  way  off! 

"Did  you  think  you  could  plant  them  in 
the  morning?"  asked  her  mother.  "You 
know,  dear,  the  ground  has  to  be  made 
ready  first ;  it  takes  a  little  time,  —  it  may 
be  several  days  before  you  can  plant." 

That  was  another  surprise.  Margery 
had  thought  she  could  begin  to  sow  the 
seed  right  off. 

But  this  was  what  was  done.  Early  the 
next  morning,  a  man  came  driving  into 
the  yard,  with  two  strong  white  horses;  in 
his  wagon  was  a  plough.  I  suppose  you 
have  seen  ploughs,  but  Margery  never  had, 
and  she  watched  with  great  interest,  while 
the  man  and  her  father  took  the  plough  from 


MARGERY'S  GARDEN  151 

the  cart  and  harnessed  the  horses  to  it. 
It  was  a  great,  three-cornered  piece  of 
sharp  steel,  with  long  handles  coming  up 
from  it,  so  that  a  man  could  hold  it  in 
place.    It  looked  like  this:  — 


44 1  brought  a  two-horse  plough  because 
it's  green  land,"  the  man  said.  Margery 
wondered  what  in  the  world  he  meant;  it 
was  green  grass,  of  course,  but  what  had 
that  to  do  with  the  kind  of  plough  ?  "  What 
does  he  mean,  father?"  she  whispered, 
when  she  got  a  chance.  "He  means  that 
this  land  has  not  been  ploughed  before,  or 
not  for  many  years;  it  will  be  hard  to  turn 
the  soil,  and  one  horse  could  not  pull  the 
plough,"  said  her  father.  So  Margery  had 
learned  what  "green  land"  was. 

The  man  was  for  two  hours  ploughing 
the  little  strip  of  land.   He  drove  the  sharp 


152     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 


end  of  the  plough  into  the  soil,  and  held  it 
firmly  so,  while  the  horses  dragged  it  along 
in  a  straight  line.  Margery  found  it  fas- 
cinating to  see  the  long  line  of  dark  earth 
and  green  grass  come  rolling  up  and  turn 
over,  as  the  knife  passed  it.  She  could  see 
that  it  took  real  skill  and  strength  to  keep 
the  line  even,  and  to  avoid  the  stones.  Some- 
times the  plough  struck  a  hidden  stone, 
and  then  the  man  was  jerked  almost  off 
his  feet.  But  he  only  laughed,  and  said, 
" Tough  piece  of  land;  be  a  lot  better  the 
second  year." 

When  he  had  ploughed,  the  man  went 
back  to  his  cart  and  unloaded  another 
farm  implement.  This  one  was  like  a 
three-cornered  platform  of  wood,  with  a 
long,  curved,  strong  rake  under  it.  It  was 
called  a  harrow,  and  it  looked  like  this:  — 


TTTl 


MARGERY'S  GARDEN  153 

The  man  harnessed  the  horses  to  it,  and 
then  he  stood  on  the  platform  and  drove  all 
over  the  strip  of  land.  It  was  fun  to  watch, 
but  perhaps  it  was  a  little  hard  to  do.  The 
man's  weight  kept  the  harrow  steady,  and 
let  the  teeth  of  the  rake  scratch  and  cut 
the  ground  up,  so  that  it  did  not  stay  in 
ridges. 

"He  scrambles  the  ground,  father!" 
said  Margery. 

"It  needs  scrambling,"  laughed  her 
father.  "We  are  going  to  get  more  weeds 
than  we  want  on  this  green  land,  and  the 
more  the  ground  is  broken,  the  fewer  there 
will  be." 

After  the  ploughing  and  harrowing,  the 
man  drove  off,  and  Margery's  father  said 
he  would  do  the  rest  of  the  work  in  the 
late  afternoons,  when  he  came  home  from 
business;  they  could  not  afford  too  much 
help,  he  said,  and  he  had  learned  to  take 
care  of  a  garden  when  he  was  a  boy.  So 
Margery  did  not  see  any  more  done  until 
the  next  day. 

But  the  next  day  there  was  hard  work 
for  Margery's  father!  Every  bit  of  that 
"scrambled"  turf  had  to  be  broken  up 


154     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

still  more  with  a  mattock  and  a  spade, 
and  then  the  pieces  which  were  full  of 
grass-roots  had  to  be  taken  on  a  fork  and 
shaken,  till  the  earth  fell  out;  then  the 
grass  was  thrown  to  one  side.  That  would 
not  have  had  to  be  done  if  the  land  had 
been  ploughed  in  the  fall ;  the  grass  would 
have  rotted  in  the  ground,  and  would  have 
made  fertilizer  for  the  plants.  Now,  Mar- 
gery's father  put  the  fertilizer  on  the  top, 
and  then  raked  it  into  the  earth. 

At  last,  it  was  time  to  make  the  place  for 
the  seeds.  Margery  and  her  mother  helped. 
Father  tied  one  end  of  a  cord  to  a  little 
stake,  and  drove  the  stake  in  the  ground 
at  one  end  of  the  garden.  Then  he  took 
the  cord  to  the  other  end  of  the  garden 
and  pulled  it  tight,  tied  it  to  another  stake, 
and  drove  that  down.  That  made  a  straight 
line  for  him  to  see.  Then  he  hoed  a  trench, 
a  few  inches  deep,  the  whole  length  of  the 
cord,  and  scattered  fertilizer  in  it.  Pretty 
soon  the  whole  garden  was  in  lines  of 
little  trenches. 

"Now  for  the  corn,"  said  father. 

Margery  ran  and  brought  the  seed 
box,  and  found  the  package  of  corn.   It 


MARGERYS   GARDEN  155 

looked  like  kernels  of  gold,  when  it  was 
opened. 

"May  I  help?"  Margery  asked,  when 
she  saw  how  pretty  it  was. 

"If  you  watch  me  sow  one  row,  I  think 
you  can  do  the  next,"  said  her  father. 

So  Margery  watched.  Her  father  took  a 
handful  of  kernels,  and,  stooping,  walked 
slowly  along  the  line,  letting  the  kernels 
fall,  five  or  six  at  a  time,  in  spots  about  a 
foot  apart;  he  swung  his  arm  with  a  gentle, 
throwing  motion,  and  the  golden  seeds 
trickled  out  like  little  showers,  very  ex- 
actly. It  was  pretty  to  watch;  it  made 
Margery  think  of  a  photograph  her  teacher 
had,  a  photograph  of  a  famous  picture 
called  "The  Sower."  Perhaps  you  have 
seen  it. 

Putting  in  the  seed  was  not  so  easy  to  do 
as  to  watch ;  sometimes  Margery  got  in  too 
much,  and  sometimes  not  enough;  but 
her  father  helped  fix  it,  and  soon  she  did 
better. 

They  planted  peas,  beans,  spinach,  car- 
rots, and  parsnips.  And  Margery's  father 
made  a  row  of  holes,  after  that,  for  the 
tomato  plants.    He  said  those  had   to   be 


156     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

transplanted ;  they  could  not  be  sown  f ron 
seed. 

When  the  seeds  were  in  the  trenchei 
they  had  to  be  covered  up,  and  Margeri 
really  helped  at  that.  It  is  fun  to  do  it 
You  stand  beside  the  little  trench  anc 
walk  backward,  and  as  you  walk  you  ho< 
the  loose  earth  back  over  the  seeds;  th< 
same  dirt  that  was  hoed  up  you  pull  bad 
again.  Then  you  rake  very  gently  ovei 
the  surface,  with  the  back  of  a  rake,  tc 
even  it  all  off.  Margery  liked  it,  because 
now  the  garden  began  to  look  like  i 
garden. 

But  best  of  all  was  the  work  next  day 
when  her  own  little  particular  garden  wai 
begun.  Father  Brown  loved  Margery  anc 
Margery's  mother  so  much  that  he  wantec 
their  garden  to  be  perfect,  and  that  mean 
a  great  deal  more  work.  He  knew  verj 
well  that  the  old  grass  would  begin  tc 
come  through  again  on  such  "green' 
soil,  and  that  it  would  make  terribly  hare 
weeding.  He  was  not  going  to  have  anj 
such  thing  for  his  two  "little  girls,"  as  h< 
called  them.  So  he  fixed  that  little  garder 
very  fine!   This  is  what  he  did. 


MARGERY'S   GARDEN  157 

After  he  had  thrown  out  all  the  turf,  he 
shoveled  clean  earth  on  to  the  garden,  — 
as  much  as  three  solid  inches  of  it;  not  a 
bit  of  grass  was  in  that.  Then  it  was  ready 
for  raking  and  fertilizing,  and  for  the  lines. 
The  little  footpaths  were  marked  out  by 
Father  Brown's  feet;  Margery  and  her 
mother  laughed  well  when  they  saw  it,  for 
it  looked  like  some  kind  of  dance.  Mr. 
Brown  had  seen  gardeners  do  it  when  he 
was  a  little  boy,  and  he  did  it  very  nicely: 
he  walked  along  the  sides  of  the  square, 
with  one  foot  turned  a  little  out,  and  the 
other  straight,  taking  such  tiny  steps  that 
his  feet  touched  each  other  all  the  time. 
This  tramped  out  a  path  just  wide  enough 
for  a  person  to  walk. 

The  wider  path  was  marked  with  lines 
and  raked. 

Margery  thought,  of  course,  all  the 
flowers  would  be  put  in  as  the  vegetables 
were;  but  she  found  that  it  was  not  so. 
For  some,  her  father  poked  little  holes 
with  his  finger;  for  some,  he  made  very 
shallow  ditches;  and  some  very  small  seeds 
were  just  scattered  lightly  over  the  top  of 
the  ground. 


158     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

Margery  and  her  mother  had  taken  so 
much  pains  in  thinking  out  how  the  flowers 
would  look  prettiest,  that  maybe  you  will 
like  to  hear  just  how  they  designed  that 
garden.  At  the  back  were  the  sweet  peas, 
which  would  grow  tall,  like  a  screen;  on  the 
two  sides,  for  a  kii\d  of  hedge,  were  yellow 
sunflowers;  and  along  the  front  edge  were 
the  gay  nasturtiums.  Margery  planned 
that,  so  that  she  could  look  into  the  gar- 
den from  the  front,  but  have  it  shut  away 
from  the  vegetable  patch  by  the  tall  flow- 
ers on  the  sides.  The  two  front  corners 
had  coreopsis  in  them.  Coreopsis  is  a  tall, 
pretty,  daisy-like  flower,  very  dainty  and 
bright.  And  then,  in  little  square  patches 
all  round  the  garden,  were  planted  white  | 
sweet  alyssum,  blue  bachelor's  buttons, 
yellow  marigolds,  tall  larkspur,  many- 
colored  asters  and  zinnias.  All  these  lovely  j 
flowers  used  to  grow  in  our  grandmothers' 
gardens,  and  if  you  don't  know  what  they 
look  like,  I  hope  you  can  find  out  next 
summer. 

Between  the  flowers  .and  the  middle 
path  went  the  seeds  for  that  wonderful 
salad  garden;  all  the  things  Mrs.  Browi 


THE   LITTLE  COTYLEDONS  159 

had  named  to  Margery  were  there.  Mar- 
gery had  never  seen  anything  so  cunning 
as  the  little  round  lettuce-seeds.  They 
looked  like  tiny  beads;  it  did  not  seem 
possible  that  green  lettuce  leaves  could 
come  from  those.    But  they  surely  would. 

Mother  and  father  and  Margery  were 
all  late  to  supper  that  evening.  But  they 
were  all  so  happy  that  it  did  not  matter. 
The  last  thing  Margery  thought  of,  as  she 
went  to  sleep  at  night,  was  the  dear, 
smooth  little  garden,  with  its  funny  foot- 
path, and  with  the  little  sticks  standing 
at  the  end  of  the  rows,  labeled  "lettuce," 
"beets,"  "helianthus,"  and  so  on. 

"I  have  a  garden!  I  have  a  garden!" 
thought  Margery,  and  then  she  went  off 
to  dreamland. 


THE    LITTLE    COTYLEDONS 

This  is  another  story  about  Margery's 
garden. 

The  next  morning  after  the  garden  was 
planted,  Margery  was  up  and  out  at  six 
o'clock.   She  could  not  wait  to  look  at  her 


160     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

garden.  To  be  sure,  she  knew  that  the 
seeds  could  not  sprout  in  a  single  night, 
but  she  had  a  feeling  that  something  might 
happen  while  she  was  not  looking.  The 
garden  was  just  as  smooth  and  brown  as 
the  night  before,  and  no  little  seeds  were 
in  sight. 

But  a  very  few  mornings  after  that, 
when  Margery  went  out,  there  was  a  funny 
little  crack  opening  up  through  the  earth, 
the  whole  length  of  the  patch.  Quickly 
she  knelt  down  in  the  footpath,  to  see. 
Yes!  Tiny  green  leaves,  a  whole  row  of 
them,  were  pushing  their  way  through  the 
crust!  Margery  knew  what  she  had  put 
there:  it  was  the  radish-row;  these  must 
be  radish  leaves.  She  examined  them  very 
closely,  so  that  she  might  know  a  radish 
next  time.  The  little  leaves,  no  bigger 
than  half  your  little-finger  nail,  grew  in 
twos,  —  two  on  each  tiny  stem ;  they  were 
almost  round. 

Margery  flew  back  to  her  mother,  to  say 
that  the  first  seeds  were  up.  And  her 
mother,  nearly  as  excited  as  Margery, 
came  to  look  at  the  little  crack. 

Each  day,  after  that,  the  row  of  radishes 


THE  LITTLE  COTYLEDONS  161 

grew,  till,  in  a  week,  it  stood  as  high  as 
your  finger,  green  and  sturdy.  But  about 
the  third  day,  while  Margery  was  stooping 
over  the  radishes,  she  saw  something  very, 
very  small  and  green,  peeping  above 
ground,  where  the  lettuce  was  planted. 
Could  it  be  weeds?  No,  for  on  looking 
very  closely  she  saw  that  the  wee  leaves 
faintly  marked  a  regular  row.  They  did 
not  make  a  crack,  like  the  radishes;  they 
seemed  too  small  and  too  far  apart  to  push 
the  earth  up  like  that.  Margery  leaned 
down  and  looked  with  all  her  eyes  at  the 
baby  plants.  The  tiny  leaves  grew  two  on 
a  stem,  and  were  almost  round.  The  more 
she  looked  at  them  the  more  it  seemed  to 
Margery  that  they  looked  exactly  as  the 
radish  looked  when  it  first  came  up.  "Do 
you  suppose,"  Margery  said  to  herself, 
"that  lettuce  and  radish  look  alike?  They 
don't  look  alike  in  the  market!" 

Day  by  day  the  lettuce  grew,  and  soon 
the  little  round  leaves  were  easier  to  ex- 
amine; they  certainly  were  very  much  like 
radish  leaves. 

Then,  one  morning,  while  she  was 
searching  the  ground  for  signs  of  seeds, 


162     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

Margery  discovered  the  beets.  In  irregular 
patches  on  the  row,  hints  of  green  were 
coming.  The  next  day  and  the  next  they 
grew,  until  the  beet  leaves  were  big  enough 
to  see. 

Margery  looked.  Then  she  looked  again. 
Then  she  wrinkled  her  forehead.  "Can 
we  have  made  a  mistake?"  she  thought. 
"Do  you  suppose  we  can  have  planted  all 
radishes?" 

For  those  little  beet  leaves  were  almost 
round,  and  they  grew  two  on  a  stem,  pre- 
cisely like  the  lettuce  and  the  radish;  ex- 
cept for  the  size,  all  three  rows  looked  alike. 

It  was  too  much  for  Margery.  She  ran  to 
the  house  and  found  her  father.  Her  little 
face  was  so  anxious  that  he  thought  some- 
thing unpleasant  had  happened.  "Papa," 
she  said,  all  out  of  breath,  "do  you  think 
we  could  have  made  a  mistake  about  my 
garden  ?  Do  you  think  we  could  have  put 
radishes  in  all  the  rows?" 

Father  laughed.  "What  makes  you 
think  such  a  thing?"  he  asked. 

"Papa,"  said  Margery,  "the  little  leaves 
all  look  exactly  alike!  every  plant  has  just 
two  tiny  leaves  on  it,  and  shaped  the  same; 


THE  LITTLE   COTYLEDONS  163 

they  are  roundish,  and  grow  out  of  the 
stem  at  the  same  place." 

Papa's  eyes  began  to  twinkle.  "Many 
of  the  dicotyledonous  plants  look  alike  at 
the  beginning,"  he  said,  with  a  little  drawl 
on  the  big  word.  That  was  to  tease  Mar- 
gery, because  she  always  wanted  to  know 
the  big  words  she  heard. 

"What's  'dicotyledonous'?"  said  Mar- 
gery, carefully. 

"Wait  till  I  come  home  to-night,  dear," 
said  her  father,  "and  I  '11  tell  you." 

That  evening  Margery  was  waiting 
eagerly  for  him,  when  her  father  finished 
his  supper.  Together  they  went  to  the 
garden,  and  father  examined  the  seedlings 
carefully.  Then  he  pulled  up  a  little  rad- 
ish plant  and  a  tiny  beet. 

"These  little  leaves,"  he  said,  "are  not 
the  real  leaves  of  the  plant ;  they  are  only 
little  food-supply  leaves,  little  pockets  to 
hold  food  for  the  plant  to  live  on  till  it  gets 
strong  enough  to  push  up  into  the  air.  As 
soon  as  the  real  leaves  come  out  and  begin 
to  draw  food  from  the  air,  these  little  sub- 
stitutes wither  up  and  fall  off.  These  two 
lie  folded  up  in  the  little  seed  from  the  be- 


164     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

ginning,  and  are  full  of  plant  food.  They 
don't  have  to  be  very  special  in  shape,  you 
see,  because  they  don't  stay  on  the  plant 
after  it  is  grown  up." 

"Then  every  plant  looks  like  this  at 
first?"  said  Margery. 

"No,  dear,  not  every  one;  plants  are 
divided  into  two  kinds:  those  which  have 
two  food  leaves,  like  these  plants,  and 
those  which  have  only  one ;  these  are  called 
dicotyledonous,  and  the  ones  which  have 
but  one  food  leaf  are  monocotyledonous. 
Many  of  the  dicotyledons  look  alike." 

"I  think  that  is  interesting,"  said  Mar- 
gery. "I  always  supposed  the  plants  were 
different  from  the  minute  they  began  to 
grow." 

"Indeed,  no,"  said  father.  "Even  some 
of  the  trees  look  like  this  when  they  first 
come  through;  you  would  not  think  a 
birch  tree  could  look  like  a  vegetable  or  a 
flower,  would  you?  But  it  does,  at  first; 
it  looks  so  much  like  these  things  that  in 
the  great  nurseries,  where  trees  are  raised 
for  forests  and  parks,  the  workmen  have 
to  be  very  carefully  trained,  or  else  they 
would  pull  up  the  trees    when  they   are 


THE  TALKATIVE  TORTOISE  165 

weeding.  They  have  to  be  taught  the  dif- 
ference between  a  birch  tree  and  a  weed." 

"How  funny!"  said  Margery  dimpling. 

"Yes,  it  sounds  funny,"  said  father; 
"but  you  see,  the  birch  tree  is  dicotyle- 
donous, and  so  are  many  weeds,  and  the 
dicotyledons  look  much  alike  at  first." 

"I  am  glad  to  know  that,  father,"  said 
Margery,  soberly.  "  I  believe  maybe  I  shall 
learn  a  good  deal  from  living  in  the  coun- 
try; don't  you  think  so?" 

Margery'  s  father  took  her  in  his  arms. 
"I  hope  so,  dear,"  he  said;  "the  country 
is  a  good  place  for  little  girls." 

And  that  was  all  that  happened,  that  day. 


THE  TALKATIVE  TORTOISE1 

Once  upon  a  time,  a  Tortoise  lived  in  a 
pond  with  two  Ducks,  who  were  her  very 
good  friends.  She  enjoyed  the  company 
of  the  Ducks,  because  she  could  talk  with 
them  to  her  heart's  content;  the  Tortoise 
liked  to  talk.  She  always  had  something 
to  say,  and  she  liked  to  hear  herself  say  it. 

1  Very  freely  adapted  from  one  of  the  Fables  of  Bidpai. 


166     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

After  many  years  of  this  pleasant  living, 
the  pond  became  very  low,  in  a  dry  season ; 
and  finally  it  dried  up.  The  two  Ducks 
saw  that  they  could  no  longer  live  there, 
so  they  decided  to  fly  to  another  region, 
where  there  was  more  water.  They  went 
to  the  Tortoise  to  bid  her  good-by. 

44 Oh,  don't  leave  me  behind!"  begged 
the  Tortoise.  "Take  me  with  you;  I  must 
die  if  I  am  left  here." 

"But  you  cannot  fly!"  said  the  Ducks. 
"How  can  we  take  you  with  us?" 

"  Take  me  with  you !  take  me  with  you ! " 
said  the  Tortoise. 

The  Ducks  felt  so  sorry  for  her  that  at 
last  they  thought  of  a  way  to  take  her. 
"We  have  thought  of  a  way  which  will 
be  possible,"  they  said,  "if  only  you  can 
manage  to  keep  still  long  enough.  We  will 
each  take  hold  of  one  end  of  a  stout  stick, 
and  do  you  take  the  middle  in  your  mouth ; 
then  we  will  fly  up  in  the  air  with  you  and 
carry  you  with  us.  But  remember  not  to 
talk!  If  you  open  your  mouth,  you  are 
lost." 

The  Tortoise  said  she  would  not  say  a 
word  ;  she  would  not  so  much  as  move  her 


THE   TALKATIVE   TORTOISE  167 

mouth;  and  she  was  very  grateful.  So  the 
Ducks  brought  a  strong  little  stick  and 
took  hold  of  the  ends,  while  the  Tortoise 
bit  firmly  on  the  middle.  Then  the  two 
Ducks  rose  slowly  in  the  air  and  flew  away 
with  their  burden. 

When  they  were  above  the  treetops, 
the  Tortoise  wanted  to  say,  "How  high 
we  are!"  But  she  remembered,  and  kept 
still.  When  they  passed  the  church  steeple 
she  wanted  to  say,  "What  is  that  which 
shines?"  But  she  remembered,  and  held 
her  peace.  Then  they  came  over  the  vil- 
lage square,  and  the  people  looked  up  and 
saw  them.  "Look  at  the  Ducks  carrying 
a  Tortoise!"  they  shouted;  and  everyone 
ran  to  look.  The  Tortoise  wanted  to  say, 
"What  business  is  it  of  yours?"  But  she 
did  n't.  Then  she  heard  the  people  shout, 
"Is  n't  it  strange!    Look  at  it!   Look!" 

The  Tortoise  forgot  everything  except 
that  she  wanted  to  say,  "Hush,  you  fool- 
ish people!"  She  opened  her  mouth, — 
and  fell  to  the  ground.  And  that  was  the 
end  of  the  Tortoise. 

It  is  a  very  good  thing  to  be  able  to  hold 
one's  tongue! 


168     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

ROBERT  OF  SICILY1 

An  old  legend  says  that  there  was  once 
a  king  named  Robert  of  Sicily,  who  was 
brother  to  the  great  Pope  of  Rome  and 
to  the  Emperor  of  Allemaine.  He  was 
a  very  selfish  king,  and  very  proud;  he 
cared  more  for  his  pleasures  than  for  the 
needs  of  his  people,  and  his  heart  was  so 
filled  with  his  own  greatness  that  he  had 
no  thought  for  God. 

One  day,  this  proud  king  was  sitting  in 
his  place  at  church,  at  vesper  service;  his 
courtiers  were  about  him,  in  their  bright 
garments,  and  he  himself  was  dressed  in 
his  royal  robes.  The  choir  was  chanting 
the  Latin  service,  and  as  the  beautiful 
voices  swelled  louder,  the  king  noticed  one 
particular  verse  which  seemed  to  be  re- 
peated again  and  again.  He  turned  to  a 
learned  clerk  at  his  side  and  asked  what 
those  words  meant,  for  he  knew  no  Latin. 

"They  mean,  'He  hath  put  down  the 
mighty  from  their  seats,  and  hath  exalted 
them  of  low  degree,'  "  answered  the  clerk. 

1  Adapted  from  Longfellow's  poem. 


ROBERT  OF  SICILY  169 

"It  is  well  the  words  are  in  Latin,  then," 
said  the  king  angrily,  "for  they  are  a  lie. 
There  is  no  power  on  earth  or  in  heaven 
which  can  put  me  down  from  my  seat!,, 
And  he  sneered  at  the  beautiful  singing, 
as  he  leaned  back  in  his  place. 

Presently  the  king  fell  asleep,  while  the 
service  went  on.  He  slept  deeply  and  long. 
When  he  awoke  the  church  was  dark  and 
still,  and  he  was  all  alone.  He,  the  king, 
had  been  left  alone  in  the  church,  to  awake 
in  the  dark !  He  was  furious  with  rage  and 
surprise,  and,  stumbling  through  the  dim 
aisles,  he  reached  the  great  doors  and  beat 
at  them,  madly,  shouting  for  his  servants. 

The  old  sexton  heard  some  one  shouting 
and  pounding  in  the  church,  and  thought 
it  was  some  drunken  vagabond  who  had 
stolen  in  during  the  service.  He  came  to 
the  door  with  his  keys  and  called  out, 
"Who  is  there?" 

"Open!  open!  It  is  I,  the  king!"  came 
a  hoarse,  angry  voice  from  within. 

1 ■  It  is  a  crazy  man,"  thought  the  sexton; 
and  he  was  frightened.  He  opened  the 
doors  carefully  and  stood  back,  peering 
into  the  darkness.    Out  past  him  rushed 


170     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

the  figure  of  a  man  in  tattered,  scanty 
clothes,  with  unkempt  hair  and  white, 
wild  face.  The  sexton  did  not  know  that 
he  had  ever  seen  him  before,  but  he  looked 
long  after  him,  wondering  at  his  wildness 
and  his  haste. 

In  his  fluttering  rags,  without  hat  or 
cloak,  not  knowing  what  strange  thing 
had  happened  to  him,  King  Robert  rushed 
to  his  palace  gates,  pushed  aside  the 
startled  servants,  and  hurried,  blind  with 
rage,  up  the  wide  stair  and  through  the 
great  corridors,  toward  the  room  where 
he  could  hear  the  sound  of  his  courtiers' 
voices.  Men  and  women  servants  tried  to 
stop  the  ragged  man,  who  had  somehow 
got  into  the  palace,  but  Robert  did  not 
even  see  them  as  he  fled  along.  Straight 
to  the  open  doors  of  the  big  banquet  hall 
he  made  his  way,  and  into  the  midst  of 
the  grand  feast  there. 

The  great  hall  was  filled  with  lights  and 
flowers ;  the  tables  were  set  with  everything 
that  is  delicate  and  rich  to  eat;  the  cour- 
tiers, in  their  gay  clothes,  were  laughing 
and  talking;  and  at  the  head  of  the  feast, 
on  the  king's  own  throne,  sat  a  king.   His 


ROBERT  OF  SICILY  171 

face,  his  figure,  his  voice  were  exactly  like 
Robert  of  Sicily;  no  human  being  could 
have  told  the  difference;  no  one  dreamed 
that  he  was  not  the  king.  He  was  dressed 
in  the  king's  royal  robes,  he  wore  the  royal 
crown,  and  on  his  hand  was  the  king's 
own  ring.  Robert  of  Sicily,  half  naked, 
ragged,  without  a  sign  of  his  kingship  on 
him,  stood  before  the  throne  and  stared 
with  fury  at  this  figure  of  himself. 

The  king  on  the  throne  looked  at  him. 
"Who  art  thou,  and  what  dost  thou  here  ?" 
he  asked.  And  though  his  voice  was  just 
like  Robert's  own,  it  had  something  in  it 
sweet  and  deep,  like  the  sound  of  bells. 

"I  am  the  king!"  cried  Robert  of  Sicily. 
"I  am  the  king,  and  you  are  an  impos- 
tor!" 

The  courtiers  started  from  their  seats, 
and  drew  their  swords.  They  would  have 
killed  the  crazy  man  who  insulted  their 
king;  but  he  raised  his  hand  and  stopped 
them,  and  with  his  eyes  looking  into 
Robert's  eyes  he  said,  "Not  the  king;  you 
shall  be  the  king's  jester!  You  shall  wear 
the  cap  and  bells,  and  make  laughter  for 
my  court.    You  shall   be  the  servant  of 


172     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

the  servants,  and  your  companion  shall  be 
the  jester's  ape." 

With  shouts  of  laughter,  the  courtiers 
drove  Robert  of  Sicily  from  the  banquet 
hall;  the  waiting-men,  with  laughter,  too, 
pushed  him  into  the  soldiers' hall;  and  there 
the  pages  brought  the  jester's  wretched 
ape,  and  put  a  fool's  cap  and  bells  on 
Robert's  head.  It  was  like  a  terrible  dream ; 
he  could  not  believe  it  true,  he  could  not 
understand  what  had  happened  to  him. 
And  when  he  woke  next  morning,  he  be- 
lieved it  was  a  dream,  and  that  he  was 
king  again.  But  as  he  turned  his  head, 
he  felt  the  coarse  straw  under  his  cheek 
instead  of  the  soft  pillow,  and  he  saw  that 
he  was  in  the  stable,  with  the  shivering 
ape  by  his  side.  Robert  of  Sicily  was  a 
jester,  and  no  one  knew  him  for  the  king. 

Three  long  years  passed.  Sicily  was 
happy  and  all  things  went  well  under  the 
king,  who  was  not  Robert.  Robert  was 
still  the  jester,  and  his  heart  was  harder 
and  bitterer  with  every  year.  Many  times, 
during  the  three  years,  the  king,  who  had 
his  face  and  voice,  had  called  him  to  him- 
self, when  none  else  could  hear,  and  had 


ROBERT  OF  SICILY  173 

asked  him  the  one  question,  "Who  art 
thou?"  And  each  time  that  he  asked  it 
his  eyes  looked  into  Robert's  eyes,  to  find 
his  heart.  But  each  time  Robert  threw 
back  his  head  and  answered,  proudly, 
"I  am  the  king!"  And  the  king's  eyes 
grew  sad  and  stern. 

At  the  end  of  three  years,  the  Pope  bade 
the  Emperor  of  Allemaine  and  the  King 
of  Sicily,  his  brothers,  to  a  great  meeting 
in  his  city  of  Rome.  The  King  of  Sicily 
went,  with  all  his  soldiers  and  courtiers 
and  servants,  — a  great  procession  of  horse- 
men and  footmen.  Never  had  been  a 
gayer  sight  than  the  grand  train,  men  in 
bright  armor,  riders  in  wonderful  cloaks 
of  velvet  and  silk,  servants,  carrying  mar- 
velous presents  to  the  Pope.  And  at  the 
very  end  rode  Robert,  the  jester.  His 
horse  was  a  poor  old  thing,  many-colored, 
and  the  ape  rode  with  him.  Every  one 
in  the  villages  through  which  they  passed 
ran  after  the  jester,  and  pointed  and 
laughed. 

The  Pope  received  his  brothers  and 
their  trains  in  the  square  before  Saint 
Peter's.     With  music  and  flags  and  flow- 


174     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

ers  he  made  the  King  of  Sicily  welcome, 
and  greeted  him  as  his  brother.  In  the 
midst  of  it,  the  jester  broke  through  the 
crowd  and  threw  himself  before  the  Pope. 
"Look  at  me!"  he  cried;  "I  am  your 
brother,  Robert  of  Sicily!  This  man  is 
an  impostor,  who  has  stolen  my  throne. 
I  am  Robert,  the  king!" 

The  Pope  looked  at  the  poor  jester 
with  pity,  but  the  Emperor  of  Allemaine 
turned  to  the  King  of  Sicily,  and  said,  "Is 
it  not  rather  dangerous,  brother,  to  keep 
a  madman  as  jester?"  And  again  Robert 
was  pushed  back  among  the  serving-men. 

It  was  Holy  Week,  and  the  king  and 
the  emperor,  with  all  their  trains,  went 
every  day  to  the  great  services  in  the 
cathedral.  Something  wonderful  and  holy 
seemed  to  make  all  these  services  more 
beautiful  than  ever  before.  All  the  people 
of  Rome  felt  it:  it  was  as  if  the  presence 
of  an  angel  were  there.  Men  thought  of 
God,  and  felt  his  blessing  on  them.  But 
no  one  knew  who  it  was  that  brought  the 
beautiful  feeling.  And  when  Easter  Day 
came,  never  had  there  been  so  lovely,  so 
holy  a  day:  in  the  great  churches,  filled 


ROBERT   OF   SICILY  175 

with  flowers,  and  sweet  with  incense,  the 
kneeling  people  listened  to  the  choirs 
singing,  and  it  was  like  the  voices  of  angels ; 
their  prayers  were  more  earnest  than  ever 
before,  their  praise  more  glad;  there  was 
something  heavenly  in  Rome. 

Robert  of  Sicily  went  to  the  services 
with  the  rest,  and  sat  in  the  humblest 
place  with  the  servants.  Over  and  over 
again  he  heard  the  sweet  voices  of  the 
choirs  chant  the  Latin  words  he  had  heard 
long  ago:  "He  hath  put  down  the  mighty 
from  their  seat,  and  hath  exalted  them  of 
low  degree."  And  at  last,  as  he  listened, 
his  heart  was  softened.  He,  too,  felt  the 
strange  blessed  presence  of  a  heavenly 
power.  He  thought  of  God,  and  of  his 
own  wickedness;  he  remembered  how 
happy  he  had  been,  and  how  little  good 
he  had  done;  he  realized,  that  his  power 
had  not  been  from  himself,  at  all.  On 
Easter  night,  as  he  crept  to  his  bed  of  straw, 
he  wept,  not  because  he  was  so  wretched, 
but  because  he  had  not  been  a  better  king 
when  power  was  his. 

At  last  all  the  festivities  were  over,  and 
the  King  of  Sicily  went  home  to  his  own 


176     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

land  again,  with  his  people.  Robert  the 
jester  came  home  too. 

On  the  day  of  their  home-coming,  there 
was, a  special  service  in  the  royal  church, 
and  even  after  the  service  was  over  for 
the  people,  the  monks  held  prayers  of 
thanksgiving  and  praise.  The  sound  of 
their  singing  came  softly  in  at  the  palace 
windows.  In  the  great  banquet  room,  the 
king  sat,  wearing  his  royal  robes  and  his 
crown,  while  many  subjects  came  to  greet 
him.  At  last,  he  sent  them  all  away,  saying 
he  wanted  to  be  alone;  but  he  commanded 
the  jester  to  stay.  And  when  they  were 
alone  together  the  king  looked  into  Robert's 
eyes,  as  he  had  done  before,  and  said, 
softly,  "Who  art  thou?" 

Robert  of  Sicily  bowed  his  head.  "Thou 
knowest  best,"  he  said,  "I  only  know  that 
I  have  sinned." 

As  he  spoke,  he  heard  the  voices  of  the 
monks  singing,  "He  hath  put  down  the 
mighty  from  their  seat,"  —  and  his  head 
sank  lower.  But  suddenly  the  music 
seemed  to  change ;  a  wonderful  light  shone 
all  about.  As  Robert  raised  his  eyes,  he 
saw  the  face  of  the  king  smiling  at  him 


THE   JEALOUS  COURTIERS  177 

with  a  radiance  like  nothing  on  earth, 
and  as  he  sank  to  his  knees  before  the  glory 
of  that  smile,  a  voice  sounded  with  the 
music,  like  a  melody  throbbing  on  a  single 
string:  — 

"I  am  an  angel,  and  thou  art  the  king!" 
Then  Robert  of  Sicily  was  alone.  His 
royal  robes  were  upon  him  once  more; 
he  wore  his  crown  and  his  royal  ring.  He 
was  king.  And  when  the  courtiers  came 
back  they  found  their  king  kneeling  by 
his  throne,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer. 


THE   JEALOUS  COURTIERS1 

I  wonder  if  you  have  ever  heard  the  an- 
ecdote about  the  artist  of  Diisseldorf  and 
the  jealous  courtiers.  This  is  it.  It  seems 
there  was  once  a  very  famous  artist  who 
lived  in  the  little  town  of  Diisseldorf.  He 
did  such  fine  work  that  the  Elector,  Prince 
Johann  Wilhelm,  ordered  a  portrait  statue 
of  himself,  on  horseback,  to  be  done  in 
bronze.    The  artist  was  overjoyed  at  the 

1  Adapted  from  the  facts  given  in  the  German  of  H.  A.  Guer- 
ber's  Mdrchen  und  Erz&hlungen  (D.  C.  Heath  &  Co.). 


178     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

commission,  and  worked  early  and  late 
at  the  statue. 

At  last  the  work  was  done,  and  the  artist 
had  the  great  statue  set  up  in  the  public 
square  of  Dusseldorf,  ready  for  the  open- 
ing view.  The  Elector  came  on  the  ap- 
pointed day,  and  with  him  came  his  favorite 
courtiers  from  the  castle.  Then  the  statue 
was  unveiled.  It  was  very  beautiful, — 
so  beautiful  that  the  prince  exclaimed  in 
surprise.  He  could  not  look  enough,  and 
presently  he  turned  to  the  artist  and  shook 
hands  with  him,  like  an  old  friend.  "Herr 
Grupello,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  great  artist, 
and  this  statue  will  make  your  fame  even 
greater  than  it  is ;  the  portrait  of  me  is  per- 
fect!" 

When  the  courtiers  heard  this,  and  saw 
the  friendly  hand-grasp,  their  jealousy  of 
the  artist  was  beyond  bounds.  Their  one 
thought  was,  how  could  they  safely  do 
something  to  humiliate  him.  They  dared 
not  pick  flaws  in  the  portrait  statue,  for 
the  prince  had  declared  it  perfect.  But  at 
last  one  of  them  said,  with  an  air  of  great 
frankness,  "  Indeed,  Herr  Grupello,  the 
portrait  of  his  Royal  Highness  is  perfect; 


THE  JEALOUS  COURTIERS  179 

but  permit  me  to  say  that  the  statue  of  the 
horse  is  not  quite  so  successful:  the  head 
is  too  large;  it  is  out  of  proportion." 

"No,"  said  another,  "the  horse  is  really 
not  so  successful;  the  turn  of  the  neck, 
there,  is  awkward." 

"If  you  would  change  the  right  hind- 
foot,  Herr  Grupello,"  said  a  third,  "it 
would  be  an  improvement." 

Still  another  found  fault  with  the  horse's 
tail. 

The  artist  listened,  quietly.  When  they 
had  all  finished,  he  turned  to  the  prince  and 
said,  "Your  courtiers,  Prince,  find  a  good 
many  flaws  in  the  statue  of  the  horse; 
will  you  permit  me  to  keep  it  a  few  days 
more,  to  do  what  I  can  with  it?" 

The  Elector  assented,  and  the  artist 
ordered  a  temporary  screen  built  around 
the  statue,  so  that  his  assistants  could 
work  undisturbed.  For  several  days  the 
sound  of  hammering  came  steadily  from 
behind  the  enclosure.  The  courtiers,  who 
took  care  to  pass  that  way,  often,  were 
delighted.  Each  one  said  to  himself,  "I 
must  have  been  right,  really;  the  artist 
himself  sees  that  something  was  wrong; 


180     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

now  I  shall  have  credit  for  saving  the 
prince's  portrait  by  my  artistic  taste !" 

Once  more  the  artist  summoned  the 
prince  and  his  courtiers,  and  once  more  the 
statue  was  unveiled.  Again  the  Elector 
exclaimed  at  its  beauty,  and  then  he  turned 
to  his  courtiers,  one  after  another,  to  see 
what  they  had  to  say. 

"Perfect!"  said  the  first.  "Now  that 
the  horse's  head  is  in  proportion,  there 
is  not  a  flaw." 

"The  change  in  the  neck  was  just  what 
was  needed,"  said  the  second;  "it  is  very 
graceful  now." 

"The  rear  right  foot  is  as  it  should  be, 
now,"  said  a  third,  "and  it  adds  so  much 
to  the  beauty  of  the  whole!" 

The  fourth  said  that  he  considered  the 
tail  greatly  improved. 

"My  courtiers  are  much  pleased  now," 
said  the  prince  to  Herr  Grupello;  "they 
think  the  statue  much  improved  by  the 
changes  you  have  made." 

Herr  Grupello  smiled  a  little.  "I  am 
glad  they  are  pleased,"  he  said,  "but  the 
fact  is,  I  have  changed  nothing!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  the  prince 


PRINCE  CHERRY  18! 

in  surprise.  "Have  we  not  heard  the  sound 
of  hammering  every  day  ?  What  were  you 
hammering  at  then?'' 

"I  was  hammering  at  the  reputation  of 
your  courtiers,  who  found  fault  simply 
because  they  were  jealous,"  said  the  artist. 
"And  I  rather  think  that  their  reputa- 
tion is  pretty  well  hammered  to  pieces  !" 

It  was,  indeed.  The  Elector  laughed 
heartily,  but  the  courtiers  slunk  away, 
one  after  another,  without  a  word. 


PRINCE  CHERRY1 

There  was  once  an  old  king,  so  wise  and 
kind  and  true  that  the  most  powerful 
good  fairy  of  his  land  visited  him  and 
asked  him  to  name  the  dearest  wish  of  his 
heart,  that  she  might  grant  it. 

"Surely  you  know  it,"  said  the  good 
king;  "it  is  for  my  only  son,  Prince  Cherry; 
do  for  him  whatever  you  would  have  done 
for  me." 

"Gladly,"  said  the  great  fairy;  "choose 
what  I  shall  give  him.   I  can  make  him  the 

1  A  shortened  version  of  the  familiar  tale. 


182     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

richest,  the  most  beautiful,  or  the  most 
powerful  prince  in  the  world;  choose." 

"None  of  those  things  are  what  I  want," 
said  the  king.  "I  want  only  that  he  shall 
be  good.  Of  what  use  will  it  be  to  him  to 
be  beautiful,  rich,  or  powerful,  if  he  grows 
into  a  bad  man  ?  Make  him  the  best  prince 
in  the  world,  I  beg  you!" 

"Alas,  I  cannot  make  him  good,"  said 
the  fairy;  "he  must  do  that  for  himself. 
I  can  give  him  good  advice,  reprove  him 
when  he  does  wrong,  and  punish  him  if  he 
will  not  punish  himself;  I  can  and  will  be 
his  best  friend,  but  I  cannot  make  him 
good  unless  he  wills  it." 

The  king  was  sad  to  hear  this,  but  he 
rejoiced  in  the  friendship  of  the  fairy  for 
his  son.  And  when  he  died,  soon  after, 
he  was  happy  to  know  that  he  left  Prince 
Cherry  in  her  hands. 

Prince  Cherry  grieved  for  his  father, 
and  often  lay  awake  at  night,  thinking  of 
him.  One  night,  when  he  was  all  alone 
in  his  room,  a  soft  and  lovely  light  sud- 
denly shone  before  him,  and  a  beautiful 
vision  stood  at  his  side.  It  was  the  good 
fairy.    She  was  clad  in  robes  of  dazzling 


PRINCE  CHERRY  183 

white,  and  on  her  shining  hair  she  wore 
a  wreath  of  white  roses. 

"I  am  the  Fairy  Candide,"  she  said  to 
the  prince.  "I  promised  your  father  that 
I  would  be  your  best  friend,  and  as  long 
as  you  live  I  shall  watch  over  your  hap- 
piness. I  have  brought  you  a  gift ;  it  is  not 
wonderful  to  look  at,  but  it  has  a  wonder- 
ful power  for  your  welfare;  wear  it,  and 
let  it  help  you." 

As  she  spoke,  she  placed  a  small  gold 
ring  on  the  prince's  little  finger.  "This 
ring,"  she  said,  "will  help  you  to  be  good; 
when  you  do  evil,  it  will  prick  you,  to 
remind  you.  If  you  do  not  heed  its  warn- 
ings a  worse  thing  will  happen  to  you,  for 
I  shall  become  your  enemy."  Then  she 
vanished. 

Prince  Cherry  wore  his  ring,  and  said 
nothing  to  any  one  of  the  fairy's  gift.  It 
did  not  prick  him  for  a  long  time,  because 
he  was  good  and  merry  and  happy.  But 
Prince  Cherry  had  been  rather  spoiled  by 
his  nurse  when  he  was  a  child;  she  had 
always  said  to  him  that  when  he  should 
become  king  he  could  do  exactly  as  he 
pleased.    Now,  after  a  while,  he  began  to 


184     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

find  out  that  this  was  not  true,  and  it  made 
him  angry. 

The  first  time  that  he  noticed  that  even 
a  king  could  not  always  have  his  own  way 
was  on  a  day  when  he  went  hunting.  It 
happened  that  he  got  no  game.  This  put 
him  in  such  a  bad  temper  that  he  grum- 
bled and  scolded  all  the  way  home.  The 
little  gold  ring  began  to  feel  tight  and  un- 
comfortable. When  he  reached  the  palace 
his  pet  dog  ran  to  meet  him. 

"Go  away!"  said  the  prince,  crossly. 

But  the  little  dog  was  so  used  to  being 
petted  that  he  only  jumped  up  on  his 
master,  and  tried  to  kiss  his  hand.  The 
prince  turned  and  kicked  the  little  creature. 
At  the  instant,  he  felt  a  sharp  prick  in  his 
little  finger,  like  a  pin  prick. 

"What  nonsense!"  said  the  prince  to 
himself.  "Am  I  not  king  of  the  whole 
land?  May  I  not  kick  my  own  dog,  if  I 
choose?   What  evil  is  there  in  that?" 

A  silver  voice  spoke  in  his  ear:  "The 
king  of  the  land  has  a  right  to  do  good, 
but  not  evil;  -you  have  been  guilty  of  bad 
temper  and  of  cruelty  to-day;  see  that 
you  do  better  to-morrow." 


PRINCE  CHERRY  185 

The  prince  turned  sharply,  but  no  one 
was  to  be  seen ;  yet  he  recognized  the  voice 
as  that  of  Fairy  Candide. 
*  He  followed  her  advice  for  a  little,  but 
presently  he  forgot,  and  the  ring  pricked 
him  so  sharply  that  his  finger  had  a  drop 
of  blood  on  it.  This  happened  again  and 
again,  for  the  prince  grew  more  self-willed 
and  headstrong  every  day;  he  had  some 
bad  friends,  too,  who  urged  him  on,  in  the 
hope  that  he  would  ruin  himself  and  give 
them  a  chance  to  seize  the  throne.  He 
treated  his  people  carelessly  and  his  ser- 
vants cruelly,  and  everything  he  wanted 
he  felt  that  he  must  have. 

The  ring  annoyed  him  terribly;  it  was 
embarrassing  for  a  king  to  have  a  drop 
of  blood  on  his  finger  all  the  time!  At 
last  he  took  the  ring  off  and  put  it  out 
of  sight.  Then  he  thought  he  should  be 
perfectly  happy,  having  his  own  way;  but 
instead,  he  grew  more  unhappy  as  he  grew 
less  good.  Whenever  he  was  crossed,  or 
could  not  have  his  own  way  instantly,  he 
flew  into  a  passion. 

Finally,  he  wanted  something  that  he 
really  could  not  have.   This  time  it  was  a 


186     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

most  beautiful  young  girl,  named  Zelia; 
the  prince  saw  her,  and  loved  her  so  much 
that  he  wanted  at  once  to  make  her  his 
queen.  To  his  great  astonishment,  she 
refused. 

"Am  I  not  pleasing  to  you?"  asked  the 
prince  in  surprise. 

"You  are  very  handsome,  very  charm- 
ing, Prince,"  said  Zelia;  "but  you  are  not 
like  the  good  king,  your  father;  I  fear  you 
would  make  me  very  miserable  if  I  were 
your  queen." 

In  a  great  rage,  Prince  Cherry  ordered 
the  young  girl  put  in  prison;  and  the  key  of 
her  dungeon  he  kept.  He  told  one  of  his 
friends,  a  wicked  man  who  flattered  him 
for  his  own  purposes,  about  the  thing, 
and  asked  his  advice. 

"Are  you  not  king  ?"  said  the  bad  friend, 
"May  you  not  do  as  you  will?  Keep  the 
girl  in  a  dungeon  till  she  does  as  you  com- 
mand, and  if  she  will  not,  sell  her  as  a 
slave." 

"But  would  it  not  be  a  disgrace  for  me 
to  harm  an  innocent  creature?"  said  the 
prince. 

"It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  you  to  have 


PRINCE  CHERRY  187 

it  said  that  one  of  your  subjects  dared  dis- 
obey you!"  said  the  courtier. 

He  had  cleverly  touched  the  Prince's 
worst  trait,  his  pride.  Prince  Cherry  went 
at  once  to  Zelia's  dungeon,  prepared  to 
do  this  cruel  thing. 

Zelia  was  gone.  No  one  had  the  key 
save  the  prince  himself;  yet  she  was  gone. 
The  only  person  who  could  have  dared 
to  help  her,  thought  the  prince,  was  his 
old  tutor,  Suliman,  the  only  man  left  who 
ever  rebuked  him  for  anything.  In  fury, 
he  ordered  Suliman  to  be  put  in  fetters 
and  brought  before  him. 

As  his  servants  left  him,  to  carry  out 
the  wicked  order,  there  was  a  clash,  as  of 
thunder,  in  the  room,  and  then  a  blinding 
light.  Fairy  Candide  stood  before  him. 
Her  beautiful  face  was  stern,  and  her  sil- 
ver voice  rang  like  a  trumpet,  as  she  said, 
"Wicked  and  selfish  prince,  you  have 
become  baser  than  the  beasts  you  hunt; 
you  are  furious  as  a  lion,  revengeful  as  a 
serpent,  greedy  as  a  wolf,  and  brutal  as  a 
bull;  take,  therefore,  the  shape  of  those 
beasts  whom  you  resemble!" 

With  horror,  the  prince  felt  himself  be- 


188     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

ing  transformed  into  a  monster.  He  tried 
to  rush  upon  the  fairy  and  kill  her,  but 
she  had  vanished  with  her  words.  As  he 
stood,  her  voice  came  from  the  air,  saying, 
sadly,  "Learn  to  conquer  your  pride  by 
being  in  submission  to  your  own  subjects." 
At  the  same  moment,  Prince  Cherry  felt 
himself  being  transported  to  a  distant 
forest,  where  he  was  set  down  by  a  clear 
stream.  In  the  water  he  saw  his  own  ter- 
rible image;  he  had  the  head  of  a  lion,  with 
bull's  horns,  the  feet  of  a  wolf,  and  a  tail 
like  a  serpent.  And  as  he  gazed  in  horror, 
the  fairy's  voice  whispered,  "Your  soul 
has  become  more  ugly  than  your  shape  is; 
you  yourself  have  deformed  it." 

The  poor  beast  rushed  away  from  the 
sound  of  her  words,  but  in  a  moment  he 
stumbled  into  a  trap,  set  by  bear-catchers. 
When  the  trappers  found  him  they  were 
delighted  to  have  caught  a  curiosity,  and 
they  immediately  dragged  him  to  the  pal- 
ace courtyard.  There  he  heard  the  whole 
court  buzzing  with  gossip.  Prince  Cherry 
had  been  struck  by  lightning  and  killed, 
was  the  news,  and  the  five  favorite  cour- 
tiers  had   struggled   to   make   themselves 


PRINCE  CHERRY  189 

rulers,  but  the  people  had  refused  them, 
and  offered  the  crown  to  Suliman,  the 
good  old  tutor. 

Even  as  he  heard  this,  the  prince  saw 
Suliman  on  the  steps  of  the  palace,  speak- 
ing to  the  people.  "I  will  take  the  crown 
to  keep  in  trust,"  he  said.  "Perhaps  the 
prince  is  not  dead." 

"He  was  a  bad  king;  we  do  not  want 
him  back,"  said  the  people. 

"I  know  his  heart,"  said  Suliman,  "it 
is  not  all  bad;  it  is  tainted,  but  not  corrupt; 
perhaps  he  will  repent  and  come  back  to 
us  a  good  king." 

When  the  beast  heard  this,  it  touched 
him  so  much  that  he  stopped  tearing  at 
his  chains,  and  became  gentle.  He  let  his 
keepers  lead  him  away  to  the  royal  me- 
nagerie without  hurting  them. 

Life  was  very  terrible  to  the  prince,  now, 
but  he  began  to  see  that  he  had  brought 
all  his  sorrow  on  himself,  and  he  tried  to 
bear  it  patiently.  The  worst  to  bear  was 
the  cruelty  of  the  keeper.  At  last,  one 
night,  this  keeper  was  in  great  danger;  a 
tiger  got  loose,  and  attacked  him.  "Good 
enough!    Let   him   die!"   thought   Prince 


*90     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

Cherry.  But  when  he  saw  how  helpless 
the  keeper  was,  he  repented,  and  sprang 
to  help.  He  killed  the  tiger  and  saved  the 
keeper's  life. 

As  he  crouched  at  the  keeper's  feet,  a 
voice  said,  "Good  actions  never  go  unre- 
warded!" And  the  terrible  monster  was 
changed  into  a  pretty  little  white  dog. 

The  keeper  carried  the  beautiful  little 
dog  to  the  court  and  told  the  story,  and 
from  then  on,  Cherry  was  carefully  treated, 
and  had  the  best  of  everything.  But  in 
order  to  keep  the  little  dog  from  growing, 
the  queen  ordered  that  he  should  be  fed 
very  little,  and  that  was  pretty  hard  for 
the  poor  prince.  He  was  often  half  starved, 
although  so  much  petted. 

One  day  he  had  carried  his  crust  of 
bread  to  a  retired  spot  in  the  palace  woods, 
where  he  loved  to  be,  when  he  saw  a  poor 
old  woman  hunting  for  roots,  and  seem- 
ing almost  starved. 

"Poor  thing,"  he  thought,  "she  is  even 
hungrier  than  I;"  and  he  ran  up  and 
dropped  the  crust  at  her  feet. 

The  woman  ate  it,  and  seemed  greatly 
refreshed. 


PRINCE  CHERRY  191 

Cherry  was  glad  of  that,  and  he  was 
running  happily  back  to  his  kennel  when 
he  heard  cries  of  distress,  and  suddenly  he 
saw  some  rough  men  dragging  along  a 
young  girl,  who  was  weeping  and  crying  for 
help.  What  was  his  horror  to  see  that  the 
young  girl  was  Zelia!  Oh,  how  he  wished 
he  were  the  monster  once  more,  so  that 
he  could  kill  the  men  and  rescue  her !  But 
he  could  do  nothing  except  bark,  and  bite 
at  the  heels  of  the  wicked  men.  That 
could  not  stop  them;  they  drove  him  off, 
with  blows,  and  carried  Zelia  into  a  palace 
in  the  wood. 

Poor  Cherry  crouched  by  the  steps,  and 
watched.  His  heart  was  full  of  pity  and 
rage.  But  suddenly  he  thought,  "I  was 
as  bad  as  these  men;  I  myself  put  Zelia  in 
prison,  and  would  have  treated  her  worse 
still,  if  I  had  not  been  prevented."  The 
thought  made  him  so  sorry  and  ashamed 
that  he  repented  bitterly  the  evil  he  had 
done. 

Presently  a  window  opened,  and  Cherry 
saw  Zelia  lean  out  and  throw  down  a  piece 
of  meat.  He  seized  it  and  was  just  going 
to  devour  it,  when  the  old  woman  to  whom 


198     STORIES  TO   TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

he  had  given  his  crust  snatched  it  away 
and  took  him  in  her  arms.  "No,  you  shall 
not  eat  it,  you  poor  little  thing,"  she  said, 
"for  every  bit  of  food  in  that  house  is 
poisoned." 

At  the  same  moment,  a  voice  said, "  Good 
actions  never  go  unrewarded!"  And  in- 
stantly Prince  Cherry  was  transformed 
into  a  little  white  dove. 

With  great  joy,  he  flew  to  the  open  pal- 
ace window  to  seek  out  his  Zelia,  to  try 
to  help  her.  But  though  he  hunted  in 
every  room,  no  Zelia  was  to  be  found. 
He  had  to  fly  away,  without  seeing  her. 
He  wanted  more  than  anything  else  to 
find  her,  and  stay  near  her,  so  he  flew  out 
into  the  world,  to  seek  her. 

He  sought  her  in  many  lands,  until  one 
day,  in  a  far  eastern  country,  he  found 
her  sitting  in  a  tent,  by  the  side  of  an  old, 
white-haired  hermit.  Cherry  was  wild  with 
delight.  He  flew  to  her  shoulder,  caressed 
her  hair  with  his  beak,  and  cooed  in  her 
ear. 

"You  dear,  lovely  little  thing!"  said 
Zelia.  "Will  you  stay  with  me  ?  If  you  will, 
I  will  love  you  always." 


PRINCE    CHERRY  193 

"Ah,  Zelia,  see  what  you  have  done!" 
*  laughed  the  hermit.  At  that  instant,  the 
white  dove  vanished,  and  Prince  Cherry 
stood  there,  as  handsome  and  charming 
as  ever,  and  with  a  look  of  kindness  and 
modesty  in  his  eyes  which  had  never  been 
there  before.  At  the  same  time,  the  hermit 
stood  up,  his  flowing  hair  changed  to  shin- 
ing gold,  and  his  face  became  a  lovely 
woman's  face;  it  was  the  Fairy  Candide. 
"  Zelia  has  broken  your  spell,"  she  said  to 
the  Prince,  "as  I  meant  she  should,  when 
you  were  worthy  of  her  love." 

Zelia  and  Prince  Cherry  fell  at  the  fairy's 
feet.  But  with  a  beautiful  smile  she  bade 
them  come  to  their  kingdom.  In  a  trice, 
they  were  transported  to  the  Prince's  palace, 
where  King  Suliman  greeted  them  with 
tears  of  joy.  He  gave  back  the  throne, 
with  all  his  heart,  and  King  Cherry  ruled 
again,  with  Zelia  for  his  queen. 

He  wore  the  little  gold  ring  all  the  rest 
of  his  life,  but  never  once  did  it  have  to 
prick  him  hard  enough  to  make  his  finger 
bleed. 


I 


194     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

THE    GOLD   IN   THE    ORCHARD1 

There  was  once  a  farmer  who  had  a  fine 
olive  orchard.  He  was  very  industrious, 
and  the  farm  always  prospered  under 
his  care.  But  he  knew  that  his  three 
sons  despised  the  farm  work,  and  were 
eager  to  make  wealth  fast,  through  ad- 
venture. 

When  the  farmer  was  old,  and  felt  that 
his  time  had  come  to  die,  he  called  the 
three  sons  to  him  and  said,  "My  sons, 
there  is  a  pot  of  gold  hidden  in  the  olive 
orchard.   Dig  for  it,  if  you  wish  it." 

The  sons  tried  to  get  him  to  tell  them 
in  what  part  of  the  orchard  the  gold  was 
hidden;  but  he  would  tell  them  nothing 
more. 

After  the  farmer  was  dead,  the  sons 
went  to  work  to  find  the  pot  of  gold;  since 
they  did  not  know  where  the  hiding-place 
was,  they  agreed  to  begin  in  a  line,  at  one 
end  of  the  orchard,  and  to  dig  until  one  of 
them  should  find  the  monev. 

They  dug  until  they  had  turned  up  the 

1  An  Italian  folk  tale. 


MARGARET  OF  NEW  ORLEANS        195 

soil  from  one  end  of  the  orchard  to  the 
other,  round  the  tree-roots  and  between 
them.  But  no  pot  of  gold  was  to  be  found. 
It  seemed  as  if  some  one  must  have  stolen 
it,  or  as  if  the  farmer  had  been  wandering 
in  his  wits.  The  three  sons  were  bitterly 
disappointed  to  have  all  their  work  for 
nothing. 

The  next  olive  season,  the  olive  trees  in 
the  orchard  bore  more  fruit  than  they  had 
ever  given;  the  fine  cultivating  they  had 
had  from  the  digging  brought  so  much 
fruit,  and  of  so  fine  a  quality,  that  when  it 
was  sold  it  gave  the  sons  a  whole  pot  of  gold ! 

And  when  they  saw  how  much  money 
had  come  from  the  orchard,  they  suddenly 
understood  what  the  wise  father  had  meant 
when  he  said,  "There  is  gold  hidden  in 
the  orchard;  dig  for  it." 


MARGARET   OF   NEW   ORLEANS 

If  you  ever  go  to  the  beautiful  city 
of  New  Orleans,  somebody  will  be  sure 
to  take  you  down  into  the  old  business 
part  of   the  city,  where  there  are   banks 


196    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

and  shops  and  hotels,  and  show  you  a 
statue  which  stands  in  a  little  square  there. 
It  is  the  statue  of  a  woman,  sitting  in  a  low 
chair,  with  her  arms  around  a  child,  who 
leans  against  her.  The  woman  is  not  at 
all  pretty:  she  wears  thick,  common  shoes, 
a  plain  dress,  with  a  little  shawl,  and  a 
sun-bonnet;  she  is  stout  and  short,  and 
her  face  is  a  square-chinned  Irish  face; 
but  her  eyes  look  at  you  like  your  mother's. 

Now  there  is  something  very  surprising 
about  this  statue:  it  was  the  first  one  that 
was  ever  made  in  this  country  in  honor  of  a 
woman.  Even  in  old  Europe  there  are  not 
many  monuments  to  women,  and  most  of 
the  few  are  to  great  queens  or  princesses, 
very  beautiful  and  very  richly  dressed. 
You  see,  this  statue  in  New  Orleans  is  not 
quite  like  anything  else. 

It  is  the  statue  of  a  woman  named  Mar- 
garet. Her  whole  name  was  Margaret 
Haughery,  but  no  one  in  New  Orleans 
remembers  her  by  it,  any  more  than  you 
think  of  your  dearest  sister  by  her  full 
name;  she  is  just  Margaret.  This  is  her 
story,  and  it  tells  why  people  made  a  monu- 
ment for  her. 


MARGARET  OF  NEW   ORLEANS        197 

When  Margaret  was  a  tiny  baby,  her 
father  and  mother  died,  and  she  was 
adopted  by  two  young  people  as  poor  and 
as  kind  as  her  own  parents.  She  lived  with 
them  until  she  grew  up.  Then  she  married, 
and  had  a  little  baby  of  her  own.  But  very 
soon  her  husband  died,  and  then  the  baby 
died,  too,  and  Margaret  was  all  alone  in 
the  world.  She  was  poor,  but  she  was 
strong,  and  knew  how  to  work. 

All  day,  from  morning  until  evening, 
she  ironed  clothes  in  a  laundry.  And  every 
day,  as  she  worked  by  the  window,  she 
saw  the  little  motherless  children  from  the 
orphan  asylum,  near  by,  working  and  play- 
ing about.  After  a  while,  there  came  a 
great  sickness  upon  the  city,  and  so  many 
mothers  and  fathers  died  that  there  were 
more  orphans  than  the  asylum  could  pos- 
sibly take  care  of.  They  needed  a  good 
friend,  now.  You  would  hardly  think, 
would  you,  that  a  poor  woman  who  worked 
in  a  laundry  could  be  much  of  a  friend 
to  them?  But  Margaret  was.  She  went 
straight  to  the  kind  Sisters  who  had  the 
asylum  and  told  them  she  was  going  to 
give  them  part  of  her  wages  and  was  go- 


198    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

ing  to  work  for  them,  besides.  Pretty  soon 
she  had  worked  so  hard  that  she  had  some 
money  saved  from  her  wages.  With  this, 
she  bought  two  cows  and  a  little  delivery 
cart.  Then  she  carried  her  milk  to  her 
customers  in  the  little  cart  every  morning; 
and  as  she  went,  she  begged  the  left-over 
food  from  the  hotels  and  rich  houses,  and 
brought  it  back  in  the  cart  to  the  hungry 
children  in  the  asylum.  In  the  very  hard- 
est times  that  was  often  all  the  food  the 
children  had. 

A  part  of  the  money  Margaret  earned 
went  every  week  to  the  asylum,  and  after  a 
few  years  that  was  made  very  much  larger 
and  better.  And  Margaret  was  so  care- 
ful and  so  good  at  business  that,  in  spite 
of  her  giving,  she  bought  more  cows  and 
earned  more  money.  With  this,  she  built 
a  home  for  orphan  babies;  she  called  it 
her  baby  house. 

After  a  time,  Margaret  had  a  chance 
to  get  a  bakery,  and  then  she  became  a 
bread-woman  instead  of  a  milk-woman. 
She  carried  the  bread  just  as  she  had 
carried  the  milk,  in  her  cart.  And  still  she 
kept  giving  money  to  the   asylum.    Then 


MARGARET  OF  NEW  ORLEANS        199 

the  great  war  came,  our  Civil  War.  In  all 
the  trouble  and  sickness  and  fear  of  that 
time,  Margaret  drove  her  cart  of  bread; 
and  somehow  she  had  always  enough  to 
give  the  starving  soldiers,  and  for  her 
babies,  besides  what  she  sold.  And  de- 
spite all  this,  she  earned  enough  so  that 
when  the  war  was  over  she  built  a  big 
steam  factory  for  her  bread.  By  this  time 
everybody  in  the  city  knew  her.  The  chil- 
dren all  over  the  city  loved  her;  the  busi- 
ness men  were  proud  of  her;  the  poor  peo- 
ple all  came  to  her  for  advice.  She  used  to 
sit  at  the  open  door  of  her  office,  in  a  calico 
gown  and  a  little  shawl,  and  give  a  good 
word  to  everybody,  rich  or  poor. 

Then,  by  and  by,  one  day,  Margaret 
died.  And  when  it  was  time  to  read  her 
will,  the  people  found  that,  with  all  her 
giving,  she  had  still  saved  a  great  deal  of 
money,  and  that  she  had  left  every  cent 
of  it  to  the  different  orphan  asylums  of 
the  city,  —  each  one  of  them  was  given 
something.  Whether  they  were  for  white 
children  or  black,  for  Jews,  Catholics,  or 
Protestants,  made  no  difference;  for  Mar- 
garet always  said,   "They  are  all  orphans 


200    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

alike."  And  just  think,  dears,  that  splen- 
did, wise  will  was  signed  with  a  cross  in- 
stead of  a  name,  for  Margaret  had  never 
learned  to  read  or  write! 

When  the  people  of  New  Orleans  knew 
that  Margaret  was  dead,  they  said,  "She 
was  a  mother  to  the  motherless;  she  was 
a  friend  to  those  who  had  no  friends; 
she  had  wisdom  greater  than  schools  can 
teach ;  we  will  not  let  her  memory  go  from 
us."  So  they  made  a  statue  of  her,  just  as 
she  used  to  look,  sitting  in  her  own  office 
door,  or  driving  in  her  own  little  cart.  And 
there  it  stands  to-day,  in  memory  of  the 
great  love  and  the  great  power  of  plain 
Margaret  Haughery,  of  New  Orleans. 


THE    DAGDA'S   HARP1 

You  know,  dears,  in  the  old  countries 
there  are  many  fine  stories  about  things 
which  happened  so  very  long  ago  that  no- 
body knows  exactly  how  much  of  them  is 

1  The  facts  from  which  this  story  was  constructed  are  found 
in  the  legend  as  given  in  Ireland's  Story,  Johnston  and  Spencer 
(Houghton,  Mifflin,  &  Co,). 


THE  DAGDA'S  HARP  201 

true.  Ireland  is  like  that.  It  is  so  old  that 
even  as  long  ago  as  four  thousand  years 
it  had  people  who  dug  in  the  mines,  and 
knew  how  to  weave  cloth  and  to  make 
beautiful  ornaments  out  of  gold,  and  who 
could  fight  and  make  laws;  but  we  do 
not  know  just  where  they  came  from,  nor 
exactly  how  they  lived.  These  people  left 
us  some  splendid  stories  about  their  kings, 
their  fights,  and  their  beautiful  women; 
but  it  all  happened  such  a  long  time  ago 
that  the  stories  are  mixtures  of  things  that 
really  happened  and  what  people  said  about 
them,  and  we  don't  know  just  which  is 
which.  The  stories  are  called  legends.  One 
of  the  prettiest  legends  is  the  story  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  about  the  Dagda's  harp. 

It  is  said  that  there  were  two  quite  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  people  in  Ireland :  one  set 
of  people  with  long  dark  hair  and  dark 
eyes,  called  Fomorians  —  they  carried  long 
slender  spears  made  of  golden  bronze 
when  they  fought  —  and  another  race  of 
people  who  were  golden-haired  and  blue- 
eyed,  and  who  carried  short,  blunt,  heavy 
spears  of  dull  metal. 

The  golden-haired  people  had  a  great 


202    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

chieftain  who  was  also  a  kind  of  high 
priest,  who  was  called  the  Dagda.  And 
this  Dagda  had  a  wonderful  magic  harp. 
The  harp  was  beautiful  to  look  upon, 
mighty  in  size,  made  of  rare  wood,  and 
ornamented  with  gold  and  jewels;  and  it 
had  wonderful  music  in  its  strings,  which 
only  the  Dagda  could  call  out.  When  the 
men  were  going  out  to  battle,  the  Dagda 
would  set  up  his  magic  harp  and  sweep 
his  hand  across  the  strings,  and  a  war  song 
would  ring  out  which  would  make  every 
warrior  buckle  on  his  armor,  brace  his 
knees,  and  shout,  "Forth  to  the  fight!" 
Then,  when  the  men  came  back  from  the 
battle,  weary  and  wounded,  the  Dagda 
would  take  his  harp  and  strike  a  few 
chords,  and  as  the  magic  music  stole  out 
upon  the  air,  every  man  forgot  his  weari- 
ness and  the  smart  of  his  wounds,  and 
thought  of  the  honor  he  had  won,  and  of 
the  comrade  who  had  died  beside  him, 
and  of  the  safety  of  his  wife  and  children. 
Then  the  song  would  swell  out  louder, 
and  every  warrior  would  remember  only 
the  glory  he  had  helped  win  for  the  king; 
and  each  man  would  rise  at  the  great  table, 


THE  DAGDA'S  HARP  203 

his  cup  in  his  hand,  and  shout  "Long  live 
the  King!" 

There  came  a  time  when  the  Fomorians 
and  the  golden-haired  men  were  at  war; 
and  in  the  midst  of  a  great  battle,  while 
the  Dagda's  hall  was  not  so  well  guarded 
as  usual,  some  of  the  chieftains  of  the 
Fomorians  stole  the  great  harp  from  the 
wall,  where  it  hung,  and  fled  away  with 
it.  Their  wives  and  children  and  some  few 
of  their  soldiers  went  with  them,  and  they 
fled  fast  and  far  through  the  night,  until 
they  were  a  long  way  from  the  battlefield. 
Then  they  thought  they  were  safe,  and  they 
turned  aside  into  a  vacant  castle,  by  the 
road,  and  sat  down  to  a  banquet,  hanging 
the  stolen  harp  on  the  wall. 

The  Dagda,  with  two  or  three  of  his 
warriors,  had  followed  hard  on  their  track. 
And  while  they  were  in  the  midst  of  their 
banqueting,  the  door  was  suddenly  burst 
open,  and  the  Dagda  stood  there,  with  his 
men.  Some  of  the  Fomorians  sprang  to 
their  feet,  but  before  any  of  them  could 
grasp  a  weapon,  the  Dagda  called  out  to 
his  harp  on  the  wall,  "Come  to  me,  O  my 
harp!" 


204    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

The  great  harp  recognized  its  master's 
voice,  and  leaped  from  the  wall.  Whirling 
through  the  hall,  sweeping  aside  and  killing 
the  men  who  got  in  its  way,  it  sprang  to  its 
master's  hand.  And  the  Dagda  took  his 
harp  and  swept  his  hand  across  the  strings 
in  three  great,  solemn  chords.  The  harp 
answered  with  the  magic  Music  of  Tears. 
As  the  wailing  harmony  smote  upon  the 
air,  the  women  of  the  Fomorians  bowed 
their  heads  and  wept  bitterly,  the  strong 
men  turned  their  faces  aside,  and  the  little 
children  sobbed. 

Again  the  Dagda  touched  the  strings, 
and  this  time  the  magic  Music  of  Mirth 
leaped  from  the  harp.  And  when  they 
heard  that  Music  of  Mirth,  the  young 
warriors  of  the  Fomorians  began  to  laugh ; 
they  laughed  till  the  cups  fell  from  their 
grasp,  and  the  spears  dropped  from  their 
hands,  while  the  wine  flowed  from  the 
broken  bowls;  they  laughed  until  their 
limbs  were  helpless  with  excess  of  glee. 

Once  more  the  Dagda  touched  his  harp, 
but  very,  very  softly.  And  now  a  music 
stole  forth  as  soft  as  dreams,  and  as  sweet 
as  joy:   it  was  the  magic  Music  of  Sleep. 


THE  TAILOR  AND  THE  THREE  BEASTS   205 

When  they  heard  that,  gently,  gently,  the 
Fomorian  women  bowed  their  heads  in 
slumber;  the  little  children  crept  to  their 
mothers'  laps;  the  old  men  nodded;  and 
the  young  warriors  drooped  in  their  seats 
and  closed  their  eyes:  one  after  another 
all  the  Fomorians  sank  into  sleep. 

When  they  were  all  deep  in  slumber, 
the  Dagda  took  his  magic  harp,  and  he  and 
his  golden-haired  warriors  stole  softly 
away,  and  came  in  safety  to  their  own 
homes  again. 


THE  TAILOR  AND  THE  THREE 
BEASTS  1 

There  was  once  a  tailor  in  Galway,  and 
he  started  out  on  a  journey  to  go  to  the 
king's  court  at  Dublin. 

He  had  not  gone  far  till  he  met  a  white 
horse,  and  he  saluted  him. 

"God  save  you,"  said  the  tailor. 

"  God  save  you,"  said  the  horse.  "Where 
are  you  going?" 

"I  am  going  to  Dublin,"  said  the  tailor, 

1  From  Beside  the  Fire,  Douglas  Hyde  (David  Nutt,  London)- 


206    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

"to  build  a  court  for  the  king  and  to  get  a 
lady  for  a  wife,  if  I  am  able  to  do  it."  For, 
it  seems  the  king  had  promised  his  daugh- 
ter and  a  great  lot  of  money  to  any  one  who 
should  be  able  to  build  up  his  court.  The 
trouble  was,  that  three  giants  lived  in  the 
wood  near  the  court,  and  every  night  they 
came  out  of  the  wood  and  threw  down 
all  that  was  built  by  day.  So  nobody  could 
get  the  court  built. 

"Would  you  make  me  a  hole,"  said 
the  old  white  garraun,  "where  I  could  go 
a-hiding  whenever  the  people  are  for  bring- 
ing me  to  the  mill  or  the  kiln,  so  that  they 
won't  see  me  ;  for  they  have  me  perished 
doing  work  for  them." 

"I'll  do  that,  indeed,"  said  the  tailor, 
"and  welcome." 

He  brought  his  spade  and  shovel,  and 
he  made  a  hole,  and  he  said  to  the  old  white 
horse  to  go  down  into  it  till  he  would  see 
if  it  would  fit  him.  The  white  horse  went 
down  into  the  hole,  but  when  he  tried  to 
come  up  again,  he  was  not  able. 

"Make  a  place  for  me  now,"  said  the 
white  horse,  "by  which  I'll  come  up  out 
of  the  hole  here,  whenever  I'll  be  hungry." 


THE  TAILOR  AND  THE  THREE  BEASTS  207 

"I  will  not,"  said  the  tailor;  "remain 
where  you  are  until  I  come  back,  and  I'll 
lift  you  up." 

The  tailor  went  forward  next  day,  and 
the  fox  met  him. 

"God  save  you,"  said  the  fox. 

"God  save  you,"  said  the  tailor. 

"Where  are  you  going,"  said  the  fox. 

"I'm  going  to  Dublin,  to  try  will  I  be 
able  to  make  a  court  for  the  king." 

"Would  you  make  a  place  for  me  where 
I'd  go  hiding?"  said  the  fox.  "The  rest 
of  the  foxes  do  be  beating  me,  and  they 
don't  allow  me  to  eat  anything  with 
them." 

"I'll  do  that  for  you,"  said  the  tailor. 

He  took  his  axe  and  his  saw,  and  he 
made  a  thing  like  a  crate,  and  he  told  the 
fox  to  get  into  it  till  he  would  see  whether 
it  would  fit  him.  The  fox  went  into  it, 
and  when  the  tailor  got  him  down,  he 
shut  him  in.  When  the  fox  was  satisfied  at 
last  that  he  had  a  nice  place  of  it  within, 
he  asked  the  tailor  to  let  him  out,  and  the 
tailor  answered  that  he  would  not. 

"Wait  there  until  I  come  back  again," 
says  he. 


208    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

The  tailor  went  forward  the  next  day, 
and  he  had  not  walked  very  far  until  he 
met  a  modder-alla ;  and  the  lion  greeted 
him. 

"God  save  you,"  said  the  lion. 

"God  save  you,"  said  the  tailor. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  said  the  lion. 

"I'm  going  to  Dublin  till  I  make  a  court 
for  the  king  if  I'm  able  to  make  it,"  said 
the  tailor. 

"If  you  were  to  make  a  plough  for  me," 
said  the  lion,  "I  and  the  other  lions  could 
be  ploughing  and  harrowing  until  we'd 
have  a  bit  to  eat  in  the  harvest." 

"I'll  do  that  for  you,"  said  the  tailor. 

He  brought  his  axe  and  his  saw,  and  he 
made  a  plough.  When  the  plough  was 
made  he  put  a  hole  in  the  beam  of  it,  and 
he  said  to  the  lion  to  go  in  under  the  plough 
till  he'd  see  was  he  any  good  of  a  plough- 
man. He  placed  the  lion's  tail  in  the  hole 
he  had  made  for  it,  and  then  clapped  in  a 
peg,  and  the  lion  was  not  able  to  draw  out 
his  tail  again. 

"Loose  me  out  now,"  said  the  lion,  "and 
we'll  fix  ourselves  and  go  ploughing." 

The  tailor  said  he  would  not  loose  him 


THE  TAILOR  AND  THE  THREE  BEASTS  209 

out  until  he  came  back  himself.  He  left 
him  there  then,  and  he  came  to  Dublin. 

When  he  came  to  Dublin,  he  got  work- 
men and  began  to  build  the  court.  At  the 
end  of  the  day  he  had  the  workmen  put  a 
great  stone  on  top  of  the  work.  When  the 
great  stone  was  raised  up,  the  tailor  put 
some  sort  of  contrivance  under  it,  that  he 
might  be  able  to  throw  it  down  as  soon  as 
the  giant  would  come  as  far  as  it.  The 
workpeople  went  home  then,  and  the  tailor 
went  in  hiding  behind  the  big  stone. 

When  the  darkness  of  the  night  was  come, 
he  saw  the  three  giants  arriving,  and  they 
began  throwing  down  the  court  until  they 
came  as  far  as  the  place  where  the  tailor 
was  in  hiding  up  above,  and  a  man  of  them 
struck  a  blow  of  his  sledge  on  the  place 
where  he  was.  The  tailor  threw  down  the 
stone,  and  it  fell  on  him  and  killed  him. 
They  went  home  then  and  left  all  of  the 
court  that  was  remaining  without  throwing 
it  down,  since  a  man  of  themselves  was 
dead. 

The  tradespeople  came  again  the  next 
day,  and  they  were  working  until  night, 
and  as  they  were  going  home  the  tailor 


810    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDRExN 

told  them  to  put  up  the  big  stone  on  the 
top  of  the  work,  as  it  had  been  the  night 
before.  They  did  that  for  him,  went  home, 
and  the  tailor  went  in  hiding  the  same  as 
he  did  the  evening  before. 

When  the  people  had  all  gone  to  rest,  the 
two  giants  came,  and  they  were  throwing 
down  all  that  was  before  them,  and  as  soon 
as  they  began,  they  put  two  shouts  out  of 
them.  The  tailor  was  going  on  manoeu- 
vring until  he  threw  down  the  great  stone, 
and  it  fell  upon  the  skull  of  the  giant  that 
was  under  him,  and  it  killed  him.  There 
was  only  the  one  giant  left  in  it  then,  and 
he  never  came  again  until  the  court  was 
finished. 

Then  when  the  work  was  over,  the  tailor 
went  to  the  king  and  told  him  to  give  him 
his  wife  and  his  money,  as  he  had  the  court 
finished ;  and  the  king  said  he  would  not 
give  him  any  wife  until  he  would  kill  the 
other  giant,  for  he  said  that  it  was  not  by 
his  strength  he  killed  the  two  giants  be- 
fore that,  and  that  he  would  give  him 
nothing  now  until  he  killed  the  other  one 
for  him.  Then  the  tailor  said  that  he 
would  kill  the  other  giant  for  him,   and 


THE  TAILOR  AND  THE  THREE  BEASTS    811 

welcome;  that  there  was  no  delay  at  all 
about  that. 

The  tailor  went  then  till  he  came  to  the 
place  where  the  other  giant  was,  and  asked 
did  he  want  a  servant-boy.  The  giant  said 
he  did  want  one,  if  he  could  get  one  who 
would  do  everything  that  he  would  do  him- 
self. 

"Anything  that  you  will  do,  I  will  do 
it,"  said  the  tailor. 

They  went  to  their  dinner  then,  and 
when  they  had  it  eaten,  the  giant  asked 
the  tailor  "would  it  come  with  him  to  swal- 
low as  much  broth  as  himself,  up  out  of 
its  boiling."  The  tailor  said,  "It  will  come 
with  me  to  do  that,  but  that  you  must  give 
me  an  hour  before  we  begin  on  it."  The 
tailor  went  out  then,  and  he  got  a  sheep- 
skin, and  he  sewed  it  up  till  he  made  a  bag 
of  it,  and  he  slipped  it  down  under  his 
coat.  He  came  in  then  and  said  to  the  giant 
to  drink  a  gallon  of  the  broth  himself  first. 
The  giant  drank  that  up  out  of  its  boil- 
ing. "  I  '11  do  that,"  said  the  tailor.  He  was 
going  on  until  he  had  it  all  poured  into  the 
skin,  and  the  giant  thought  he  had  it  drunk. 
The  giant  drank  another  gallon  then,  and 


212    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

the  tailor  let  another  gallon  down  into  the 
skin,  but  the  giant  thought  he  was  drink- 
ing it. 

"I'll  do  a  thing  now  that  it  won't  come 
with  you  to  do,"  said  the  tailor. 

"You  will  not,"  said  the  giant.  "What 
is  it  you  would  do?" 

"Make  a  hole  and  let  out  the  broth 
again,"  said  the  tailor. 

"Do  it  yourself  first,"  said  the  giant. 

The  tailor  gave  a  prod  of  the  knife,  and 
he  let  the  broth  out  of  the  skin. 

"Do  that  you,"  said  he. 

"I  will,"  said  the  giant,  giving  such  a 
prod  of  the  knife  into  his  own  stomach 
that  he  killed  himself.  That  is  the  way 
the  tailor  killed  the  third  giant. 

He  went  to  the  king  then,  and  desired 
him  to  send  him  out  his  wife  and  his  money, 
for  that  he  would  throw  down  the  court 
again  unless  he  should  get  the  wife.  They 
were  afraid  then  that  he  would  throw  down 
the  court,  and  they  sent  the  wife  to  him. 

When  the  tailor  was  a  day  gone,  him- 
self and  his  wife,  they  repented  and  fol- 
lowed him  to  take  his  wife  off  him  again. 
The  people  who  were  after  him  were  fol- 


THE  TAILOR  AND  THE  THREE  BEASTS    213 

lowing  him  till  they  came  to  the  place 
where  the  lion  was,  and  the  lion  said  to 
them:  "The  tailor  and  his  wife  were  here 
yesterday.  I  saw  them  going  by,  and  if  ye 
loose  me  now,  I  am  swifter  than  ye,  and  I 
will  follow  them  till  I  overtake  them." 
When  they  heard  that,  they  loosed  out  the 
lion. 

The  lion  and  the  people  of  Dublin  went 
on,  and  they  were  pursuing  him,  until  they 
came  to  the  place  where  the  fox  was,  and 
the  fox  greeted  them,  and  said:  "The  tailor 
and  his  wife  were  here  this  morning,  and 
if  ye  will  loose  me  out,  I  am  swifter  than 
ye,  and  I  will  follow  them,  and  overtake 
them.,,    They  loosed  out  the  fox  then. 

The  lion  and  the  fox  and  the  army  of 
Dublin  went  on  then,  trying  would  they 
catch  the  tailor,  and  they  were  going  till 
they  came  to  the  place  where  the  old  white 
garraun  was,  and  the  old  white  garraun 
said  to  them  that  the  tailor  and  his  wife 
were  there  in  the  morning,  and  "Loose  me 
out,"  said  he;  "I  am  swifter  than  ye,  and 
I'll  overtake  them."  They  loosed  out  the 
old  white  garraun  then,  and  the  old  white 
garraun,  the  fox,  the  lion,  and  the  army 


214    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

of  Dublin  pursued  the  tailor  and  his  wife 
together,  and  it  was  not  long  till  they  came 
up  with  him,  and  saw  himself  and  the  wife 
out  before  them. 

When  the  tailor  saw  them  coming,  he 
got  out  of  the  coach  with  his  wife,  and  he 
sat  down  on  the  ground. 

When  the  old  white  garraun  saw  the 
tailor  sitting  down  on  the  ground,  he  said, 
"That's  the  position  he  had  when  he  made 
the  hole  for  me,  that  I  could  n't  come  up 
out  of,  when  I  went  down  into  it.  I'll  go 
no  nearer  to  him." 

"No!"  said  the  fox,  "but  that's  the  way 
he  was  when  he  was  making  the  thing  for 
me,  and  I'll  go  no  nearer  to  him." 

"No!"  says  the  lion, "  but  that's  the  very 
way  he  had,  when  he  was  making  the  plough 
that  I  was  caught  in.  I'll  go  no  nearer 
to  him." 

They  all  went  from  him  then  and  re- 
turned. The  tailor  and  his  wife  came  home 
to  Galway. 


THE    CASTLE   OF    FORTUNE  215 

THE    CASTLE    OF    FORTUNE1 

One  lovely  summer  morning,  just  as  the 
sun  rose,  two  travelers  started  on  a  journey. 
They  were  both  strong  young  men,  but  one 
was  a  lazy  fellow  and  the  other  was  a 
worker. 

As  the  first  sunbeams  came  over  the 
hills,  they  shone  on  a  great  castle  stand- 
ing on  the  heights,  as  far  away  as  the  eye 
could  see.  It  was  a  wonderful  and  beauti- 
ful castle,  all  glistening  towers  that  gleamed 
like  marble,  and  glancing  windows  that 
shone  like  crystal.  The  two  young  men 
looked  at  it  eagerly,  and  longed  to  go 
nearer. 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  distance,  something 
like  a  great  butterfly,  of  white  and  gold, 
swept  toward  them.  And  when  it  came 
nearer,  they  saw  that  it  was  a  most  beautiful 
lady,  robed  in  floating  garments  as  fine  as 
cobwebs  and  wearing  on  her  head  a  crown 
so  bright  that  no  one  could  tell  whether 
it  was  of  diamonds  or  of  dew.  She  stood, 

1  Adapted  from  the  German  of  Der  Fatde  und  der  Fleissige 
hy  Robert  Reinick 


216    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

light  as  air,  on  a  great,  shining,  golden  ball, 
whieh  rolled  along  with  her,  swifter  than 
the  wind.  As  she  passed  the  travelers,  she 
turned  her  face  to  them  and  smiled. 

"Follow  me!"  she  said. 

The  lazy  man  sat  down  in  the  grass 
with  a  discontented  sigh.  "She  has  an  easy 
time  of  it!"  he  said. 

But  the  industrious  man  ran  after  the 
lovely  lady  and  caught  the  hem  of  her 
floating  robe  in  his  grasp.  "Who  are  you, 
and  whither  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  the  Fairy  of  Fortune,"  the  beau- 
tiful lady  said,  "and  that  is  my  castle.  You 
may  reach  it  to-day,  if  you  will;  there  is 
time,  if  you  waste  none.  If  you  reach  it 
before  the  last  stroke  of  midnight,  I  will 
receive  you  there,  and  will  be  your  friend. 
But  if  you  come  one  second  after  midnight, 
it  will  be  too  late." 

When  she  had  said  this,  her  robe  Slipped 
from  the  traveler's  hand  and  she  was  gone. 

The  industrious  man  hurried  back  to  his 
friend,  and  told  him  what  the  fairy  had 
said. 

"The  idea!"  said  the  lazy  man,  and  he 
laughed;  "of  course,  if  a  body  had  a  horse 


THE  CASTLE  OF  FORTUNE  217 

there  would  be  some  chance,  but  walk  all 
that  way?  No,  thank  you!" 

"Then  good-by,"  said  his  friend,  "I  am 
off."  And  he  set  out,  down  the  road  to- 
ward the  shining  castle,  with  a  good  steady 
stride,  his  eyes  straight  ahead. 

The  lazy  man  lay  down  in  the  soft  grass, 
and  looked  rather  wistfully  at  the  far- 
away towers.  "If  I  only  had  a  good  horse ! " 
he  sighed. 

Just  at  that  moment  he  felt  something 
warm  nosing  about  at  his  shoulder,  and 
heard  a  little  whinny.  He  turned  round, 
and  there  stood  a  little  horse  \  It  was  a 
dainty  creature,  gentle-looking,  and  finely 
built,  and  it  was  saddled  and  bridled. 

"Hola!"  said  the  lazy  man.  "Luck 
often  comes  when  one  is  n't  looking  for 
it!"  And  in  an  instant  he  had  leaped  on 
the  horse,  and  headed  him  for  the  castle 
of  fortune.  The  little  horse  started  at  a 
fine  pace,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  they 
overtook  the  other  traveler,  plodding  along 
on  foot. 

"How  do  you  like  shank's  mare?" 
laughed  the  lazy  man,  as  he  passed  his, 
friend. 


218    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

The  industrious  man  only  nodded,  and 
kept  on  with  his  steady  stride,  eyes  straight 
ahead. 

The  horse  kept  his  good  pace,  and  by 
noon  the  towers  of  the  castle  stood  out 
against  the  sky,  much  nearer  and  more 
beautiful.  Exactly  at  noon,  the  horse 
turned  aside  from  the  road,  into  a  shady 
grove  on  a  hill,  and  stopped. 

"Wise  beast,"  said  his  rider;  " 'haste 
makes  waste,'  and  all  things  are  better 
in  moderation.  I'll  follow  your  example, 
and  eat  and  rest  a  bit."  He  dismounted 
and  sat  down  in  the  cool  moss,  with  his 
back  against  a  tree.  He  had  a  lunch  in  his 
traveler's  pouch,  and  he  ate  it  comfortably. 
Then  he  felt  drowsy  from  the  heat  and  the 
early  ride,  so  he  pulled  his  hat  over  his 
eyes,  and  settled  himself  for  a  nap.  "It 
will  go  all  the  better  for  a  little  rest,"  he 
said. 

That  was  a  sleep !  He  slept  like  the  seven 
sleepers,  and  he  dreamed  the  most  beauti- 
ful things  you  could  imagine.  At  last,  he 
dreamed  that  he  had  entered  the  castle  of 
fortune  and  was  being  received  with  great 
festivities.     Everything    he    wanted    was 


THE  CASTLE  OF   FORTUNE  219 

brought  to  him,  and  music  played  while 
fireworks  were  set  off  in  his  honor.  The 
music  was  so  loud  that  he  awoke.  He 
sat  up,  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  behold,  the 
fireworks  were  the  very  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  and  the  music  was  the  voice 
of  the  other  traveler,  passing  the  grove 
on  foot! 

"Time  to  be  off,"  said  the  lazy  man, 
and  looked  about  him  for  the  pretty  horse. 
No  horse  was  to  be  found.  The  only  living 
thing  near  was  an  old,  bony,  gray  donkey. 
The  man  called,  and  whistled,  and  looked, 
but  no  little  horse  appeared.  After  a  long 
while  he  gave  it  up,  and,  since  there  was 
nothing  better  to  do,  he  mounted  the  old 
gray  donkey  and  set  out  again. 

The  donkey  was  slow,  and  he  was  hard 
to  ride,  but  he  was  better  than  nothing; 
and  gradually  the  lazy  man  saw  the 
towers  of  the  castle  draw  nearer. 

Now  it  began  to  grow  dark;  in  the  castle 
windows  the  lights  began  to  show.  Then 
oame  trouble !  Slower,  and  slower,  went  the 
gray  donkey;  slower,  and  slower,  till,  in 
the  very  middle  of  a  pitch-black  wood,  he 
stopped  and  stood  still .   Not  a  step  would 


220    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

he  budge  for  all  the  coaxing  and  scolding 
and  beating  his  rider  could  give.  At  last 
the  rider  kicked  him,  as  well  as  beat  him, 
and  at  that  the  donkey  felt  that  he  had  had 
enough.  Up  went  his  hind  heels,  and  down 
went  his  head,  and  over  it  went  the  lazy 
man  on  to  the  stony  ground. 

There  he  lay  groaning  for  many  min- 
utes, for  it  was  not  a  soft  place,  I  can  assure 
you.  How  he  wished  he  were  in  a  soft, 
warm  bed,  with  his  aching  bones  com- 
fortable in  blankets !  The  very  thought  of 
it  made  him  remember  the  castle  of  for- 
tune, for  he  knew  there  must  be  fine  beds 
there.  To  get  to  those  beds  he  was  even 
willing  to  bestir  his  bruised  limbs,  so  he 
sat  up  and  felt  about  him  for  the  donkey. 

No  donkey  was  to  be  found. 

The  lazy  man  crept  round  and  round 
the  spot  where  he  had  fallen,  scratched  his 
hands  on  the  stumps,  tore  his  face  in  the 
briers,  and  bumped  his  knees  on  the  stones. 
But  no  donkey  was  there.  He  would  have 
lain  down  to  sleep  again,  but  he  could 
hear  now  the  howls  of  hungry  wolves  in 
the  woods;  that  did  not  sound  pleasant. 
Finally,   his   hand   struck   against   some- 


THE  CASTLE  OF  FORTUNE  S21 

thing  that  felt  like  a  saddle.  He  grasped 
it,  thankfully,  and  started  to  mount  his 
donkey. 

The  beast  he  took  hold  of  seemed  very 
small,  and,  as  he  mounted,  he  felt  that 
its  sides  were  moist  and  slimy.  It  gave 
him  a  shudder,  and  he  hesitated;  but  at 
that  moment  he  heard  a  distant  clock  strike. 
It  was  striking  eleven!  There  was  still 
time  to  reach  the  castle  of  fortune,  but  no 
more  than  enough ;  so  he  mounted  his  new 
steed  and  rode  on  once  more.  The  animal 
was  easier  to  sit  on  than  the  donkey,  and 
the  saddle  seemed  remarkably  high  be- 
hind; it  was  good  to  lean  against.  But 
even  the  donkey  was  not  so  slow  as  this; 
the  new  steed  was  slower  than  he.  After 
a  while,  however,  he  pushed  his  way  out  of 
the  woods  into  the  open,  and  there  stood 
the  castle,  only  a  little  way  ahead !  All  its 
windows  were  ablaze  with  lights.  A  ray 
from  them  fell  on  the  lazy  man's  beast, 
and  he  saw  what  he  was  riding:  it  was  a 
gigantic  snail!  a  snail  as  large  as  a  calf! 

A  cold  shudder  ran  over  the  lazy  man's 
body,  and  he  would  have  got  off  his  horrid 
animal  then  and  there,  but  just  then  the 


23*     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

clock  struck  once  more.  It  was  the  first 
of  the  long,  slow  strokes  that  mark  mid- 
night! The  man  grew  frantic  when  he 
heard  it.  He  drove  his  heels  into  the  snail's 
sides,  to  make  him  hurry.  Instantly,  the 
snail  drew  in  his  head,  curled  up  in  his 
shell,  and  left  the  lazy  man  sitting  in  a  heap 
on  the  ground! 

The  clock  struck  twice.  If  the  man  had 
run  for  it,  he  could  still  have  reached  the 
castle,  but,  instead,  he  sat  still  and  shouted 
for  a  horse. 

"A  beast,  a  beast!"  he  wailed,  "any  kind 
of  a  beast  that  will  take  me  to  the  castle!" 

The  clock  struck  three  times.  And  as  it 
struck  the  third  note,  something  came 
rustling  and  rattling  out  of  the  darkness, 
something  that  sounded  like  a  horse  with 
harness.  The  lazy  man  jumped  on  its  back, 
a  very  queer,  low  back.  As  he  mounted,  he 
saw  the  doors  of  the  castle  open,  and  saw 
his  friend  standing  on  the  threshold,  wav- 
ing his  cap  and  beckoning  to  him. 

The  clock  struck  four  times,  and  the 
new  steed  began  to  stir;  as  it  struck  five, 
he  moved  a  pace  forward;  as  it  struck 
six,  he  stopped;    as  it  struck  seven,  he 


THE   CASTLE  OF   FORTUNE  **8 

turned  himself  about;  as  it  struck  eight, 
he  began  to  move  backward,  away  from 
the  castle! 

The  lazy  man  shouted,  and  beat  him, 
but  the  beast  went  slowly  backward.  And 
the  clock  struck  nine.  The  man  tried  to 
slide  off,  then,  but  from  all  sides  of  his 
strange  animal  great  arms  came  reaching 
up  and  held  him  fast.  And  in  the  next  ray 
of  moonlight  that  broke  the  dark  clouds,  he 
saw  that  he  was  mounted  on  a  monster  crab! 

One  by  one,  the  lights  went  out,  in  the 
castle  windows.  The  clock  struck  ten. 
Backward  went  the  crab.  Eleven!  Still 
the  crab  went  backward.  The  clock  struck 
twelve!  Then  the  great  doors  shut  with  a 
clang,  and  the  castle  of  fortune  was  closed 
forever  to  the  lazy  man. 

What  became  of  him  and  his  crab  no 
one  knows  to  this  day,  and  no  one  cares. 
But  the  industrious  man  was  received  by 
the  Fairy  of  Fortune,  and  made  happy  in 
the  castle  as  long  as  he  wanted  to  stay. 
And  ever  afterward  she  was  his  friend, 
helping  him  not  only  to  happiness  for  him- 
self, but  also  showing  him  how  to  help 
others,  wherever  he  went. 


£S4    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

DAVID  AND  GOLIATH1 

A  long  time  ago,  there  was  a  boy  named 
David,  who  lived  in  a  country  far  east  of 
this.  He  was  good  to  look  upon,  for  he 
had  fair  hair  and  a  ruddy  skin;  and  he 
was  very  strong  and  brave  and  modest. 
He  was  shepherd-boy  for  his  father,  and 
all  day — often  all  night — he  was  out  in 
the  fields,  far  from  home,  watching  over 
the  sheep.  He  had  to  guard  them  from 
wild  animals,  and  lead  them  to  the  right 
pastures,  and  care  for  them. 

By  and  by,  war  broke  out  between  the 
people  of  David's  country  and  a  people 
that  lived  near  at  hand;  these  men  were 
called  Philistines,  and  the  people  of  David's 
country  were  named  Israel.  All  the  strong 
men  of  Israel  went  up  to  the  battle,  to 
fight  for  their  king.  David's  three  older 
brothers  went,  but  he  was  only  a  boy,  so 
he  was  left  behind  to  care  for  the  sheep. 

After  the  brothers  had  been  gone  some 
time,  David's  father  longed  very  much  to 

1  From  the  text  of  the  King  James  version  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, with  introduction  and  slight  interpolations,  changes  of 
order,  and  omissions. 


DAVID  AND   GOLIATH  225 

hear  from  them,  and  to  know  if  they  were 
safe;  so  he  sent  for  David,  from  the  fields, 
and  said  to  him,  "Take  now  for  thy  bro- 
thers an  ephah  of  this  parched  corn,  and 
these  ten  loaves,  and  run  to  the  camp, 
where  thy  brothers  are;  and  carry  these 
ten  cheeses  to  the  captain  of  their  thousand, 
and  see  how  thy  brothers  fare,  and  bring 
me  word  again."  (An  ephah  is  about  three 
pecks.) 

David  rose  early  in  the  morning,  and 
left  the  sheep  with  a  keeper,  and  took  the 
corn  and  the  loaves  and  the  cheeses,  as  his 
father  had  commanded  him,  and  went  to 
the  camp  of  Israel. 

The  camp  was  on  a  mountain;  Israel 
stood  on  a  mountain  on  the  one  side,  and 
the  Philistines  stood  on  a  mountain  on  the 
other  side;  and  there  was  a  valley  between 
them.  David  came  to  the  place  where  the 
Israelites  were,  just  as  the  host  was  going 
forth  to  the  fight,  shouting  for  the  battle. 
So  he  left  his  gifts  in  the  hands  of  the  keeper 
of  the  baggage,  and  ran  into  the  army, 
amongst  the  soldiers,  to  find  his  brothers. 
When  he  found  them,  he  saluted  them  and 
began  to  talk  with  them. 


ffS6    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

But  while  he  was  asking  them  the  ques- 
tions his  father  had  commanded,  there 
arose  a  great  shouting  and  tumult  among 
the  Israelites,  and  men  came  running  back 
from  the  front  line  of  battle;  everything 
became  confusion.  David  looked  to  see 
what  the  trouble  was,  and  he  saw  a  strange 
sight:  on  the  hillside  of  the  Philistines,  a 
warrior  was  striding  forward,  calling  out 
something  in  a  taunting  voice;  he  was  a 
gigantic  man,  the  largest  David  had  ever 
seen,  and  he  was  all  dressed  in  armor, 
that  shone  in  the  sun:  he  had  a  helmet  of 
brass  upon  his  head,  and  he  was  armed 
with  a  coat  of  mail,  and  he  had  greaves  of 
brass  upon  his  legs,  and  a  target  of  brass 
between  his  shoulders;  his  spear  was  so 
tremendous  that  the  staff  of  it  was  like  a 
weaver's  beam,  and  his  shield  so  great  that 
a  man  went  before  him,  to  carry  it. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  David. 

"It  is  Goliath,  of  Gath,  champion  of 
the  Philistines,"  said  the  soldiers  about. 
"Every  day,  for  forty  days,  he  has  come 
forth,  so,  and  challenged  us  to  send  a  man 
against  him,  in  single  combat;  and  since 
no  one  dares  to  go  out  against  him  alone, 


DAVID   AND   GOLIATH  **7 

the  armies  cannot  fight/ '  (That  was  one 
of  the  laws  of  warfare  in  those  times.) 

"What!"  said  David,  "does  none  dare 
go  out  against  him?" 

As  he  spoke,  the  giant  stood  still,  on 
the  hillside  opposite  the  Israelitish  host, 
and  shouted  his  challenge,  scornfully.  He 
said,  "Why  are  ye  come  out  to  set  your 
battle  in  array?  Am  I  not  a  Philistine, 
and  ye  servants  of  Saul?  Choose  you  a 
man  for  you,  and  let  him  come  down 
to  me.  If  he  be  able  to  fight  with  me, 
and  to  kill  me,  then  will  we  be  your  ser- 
vants; but  if  I  prevail  against  him,  and 
kill  him,  then  shall  ye  be  our  servants, 
and  serve  us.  I  defy  the  armies  of  Israel 
this  day;  give  me  a  man,  that  we  may 
fight  together!" 

When  King  Saul  heard  these  words,  he 
was  dismayed,  and  all  the  men  of  Israel, 
when  they  saw  the  man,  fled  from  him 
and  were  sore  afraid.  David  heard  them 
talking  among  themselves,  whispering  and 
murmuring.  They  were  saying,  "Have  ye 
seen  this  man  that  is  come  up?  Surely 
if  any  one  killeth  him  that  man  will  the 
king  make  rich;  perhaps  he  will  give  him 


228    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

his  daughter  in  marriage,  and  make  his 
family  free  in  Israel!" 

David  heard  this,  and  he  asked  the  men 
if  it  were  so.    It  was  surely  so,  they  said. 

"But,"  said  David,  "who  is  this  Philis- 
tine, that  he  should  defy  the  armies  of 
the  living  God  ?"  And  he  was  stirred  with 
anger. 

Very  soon,  some  of  the  officers  told  the 
king  about  the  youth  who  was  asking  so 
many  questions,  and  who  said  that  a  mere 
Philistine  should  not  be  let  defy  the  armies 
of  the  living  God.  Immediately  Saul  sent 
for  him.  When  David  came  before  Saul, 
he  said  to  the  king,  "Let  no  man's  heart 
fail  because  of  him ;  thy  servant  will  go  and 
fight  with  this  Philistine." 

But  Saul  looked  at  David,  and  said, 
"Thou  art  not  able  to  go  against  this  Phil- 
istine, to  fight  with  him,  for  thou  art  but  a 
youth,  and  he  has  been  a  man  of  war  from 
his  youth." 

Then  David  said  to  Saul,  "Once  I  was 
keeping  my  father's  sheep,  and  there  came 
a  lion  and  a  bear,  and  took  a  lamb  out  of 
the  flock;  and  I  went  out  after  the  lion, 
and  struck  him,  and  delivered  the  lamb 


DAVID  AND   GOLIATH  229 

out  of  his  mouth,  and  when  he  arose  against 
me,  I  caught  him  by  the  beard,  and  struck 
him,  and  slew  him !  Thy  servant  slew  both 
the  lion  and  the  bear;  and  this  Philistine 
shall  be  as  one  of  them,  for  he  hath  defied 
the  armies  of  the  living  God.  The  Lord, 
who  delivered  me  out  of  the  paw  of  the 
lion  and  out  of  the  paw  of  the  bear,  he  will 
deliver  me  out  of  the  hand  of  this  Philis- 
tine." 

"Go,"  said  Saul,  "and  the  Lord  be  with 
thee!" 

And  he  armed  David  with  his  own  armor, 
—  he  put  a  helmet  of  brass  upon  his  head, 
and  armed  him  with  a  coat  of  mail.  But 
when  David  girded  his  sword  upon  his 
armor,  and  tried  to  walk,  he  said  to  Saul, 
"I  cannot  go  with  these,  for  I  am  not 
used  to  them."    And  he  put  them  off. 

Then  he  took  his  staff  in  his  hand  and 
went  and  chose  five  smooth  stones  out  of 
the  brook,  and  put  them  in  a  shepherd's 
bag  which  he  had;  and  his  sling  was  in  his 
hand;  and  he  went  out  and  drew  near  to 
the  Philistine. 

And  the  Philistine  came  on  and  drew 
near  to  David;  and  the  man  that  bore  his 


280    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

shield  went  before  him.  And  when  the 
Philistine  looked  about  and  saw  David,  he 
disdained  him,  for  David  was  but  a  boy, 
and  ruddy,  and  of  a  fair  countenance.  And 
he  said  to  David,  "Am  I  a  dog,  that  thou 
comest  to  me  with  a  cudgel  ?  "  And  with 
curses  he  cried  out  again,  "Come  to  me, 
and  I  will  give  thy  flesh  unto  the  fowls  of 
the  air,  and  to  the  beasts  of  the  field." 

But  David  looked  at  him,  and  answered, 
'Thou  comest  to  me  with  a  sword,  and 
with  a  spear,  and  with  a  shield ;  but  I  come 
to  thee  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  of  hosts, 
the  God  of  the  armies  of  Israel,  whom 
thou  hast  defied.  This  day  will  the  Lord 
deliver  thee  into  my  hand;  and  I  will  smite 
thee,  and  take  thy  head  from  thee,  and  I 
will  give  the  carcasses  of  the  host  of  the 
Philistines  this  day  unto  the  fowls  of  the 
air,  and  to  the  wild  beasts  of  the  earth, 
that  all  the  earth  may  know  that  there  is  a 
God  in  Israel!  And  all  this  assembly  shall 
know  that  the  Lord  saveth  not  with  sword 
and  spear;  for  the  battle  is  the  Lord's, 
and  he  will  give  you  into  our  hands." 

And   then,   when  the  Philistine   arose, 
and  came,  and  drew  nigh  to  meet  David, 


THE    SHEPHERDS    SONG  231 

David  hasted,  and  ran  toward  the  army 
to  meet  the  Philistine.  And  when  he  was 
a  little  way  from  him,  he  put  his  hand  in 
his  bag,  and  took  thence  a  stone,  and  put 
it  in  his  sling,  and  slung  it,  and  smote  the 
Philistine  in  the  forehead,  so  that  the  stone 
sank  into  his  forehead ;  and  he  fell  on  his 
face  to  the  earth. 

And  David  ran,  and  stood  upon  the 
Philistine,  and  took  his  sword,  and  drew 
it  out  of  its  sheath,  and  slew  him  with  it. 

Then,  when  the  Philistines  saw  that  their 
champion  was  dead,  they  fled.  But  the 
army  of  Israel  pursued  them,  and  victory 
was  with  the  men  of  Israel. 

And  after  the  battle,  David  was  taken 
to  the  king's  tent,  and  made  a  captain  over 
many  men;  and  he  went  no  more  to  his 
father's  house,  to  herd  the  sheep,  but  be- 
came a  man,  in  the  king's  service. 


THE    SHEPHERD'S   SONG 

David  had  many  fierce  battles  to  fight 
for  Bang  Saul  against  the  enemies  of  Israel, 
and  he  won  them  all.   Then,  later,  he  had 


232    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

to  fight  against  the  king's  own  soldiers,  to 
save  himself,  for  King  Saul  grew  wickedly 
jealous  of  David's  fame  as  a  soldier,  and 
tried  to  kill  him.  Twice,  when  David  had 
a  chance  to  kill  the  king,  he  let  him  go 
safe;  but  even  then,  Saul  kept  on  trying  to 
take  his  life,  and  David  was  kept  away 
from  his  home  and  land  as  if  he  were  an 
enemy. 

But  when  King  Saul  died,  the  people 
chose  David  for  their  king,  because  there 
was  no  one  so  brave,  so  wise,  or  so  faithful 
to  God.  King  David  lived  a  long  time, 
and  made  his  people  famous  for  victory 
and  happiness;  he  had  many  troubles 
and  many  wars,  but  he  always  trusted 
that  God  would  help  him,  and  he  never 
deserted  his  own  people  in  any  hard 
place. 

After  a  battle,  or  when  it  was  a  holiday, 
or  when  he  was  very  thankful  for  some- 
thing, King  David  used  to  make  songs, 
and  sing  them  before  the  people.  Some 
of  these  songs  were  so  beautiful  that  they 
have  never  been  forgotten.  After  all  these 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years,  we  sing 
them  still;  we  call  them  Psalms. 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  SONG  233 

Often,  after  David  had  made  a  song,  his 
chief  musician  would  sing  with  him,  as  the 
people  gathered  to  worship  God.  Some- 
times the  singers  were  divided  into  two 
great  choruses,  and  went  to  the  service  in 
two  processions;  then  one  chorus  would 
sing  a  verse  of  David's  song,  and  the 
other  procession  would  answer  with  the 
next,  and  then  both  would  sing  together; 
it  was  very  beautiful  to  hear.  Even  now, 
we  sometimes  do  that  with  the  songs  of 
David  in  our  churches. 

One  of  the  Psalms  that  everybody  loves 
is  a  song  that  David  made  when  he  remem- 
bered the  days  before  he  came  to  Saul's 
camp.  He  remembered  the  days  and  nights 
he  used  to  spend  in  the  fields  with  the 
sheep,  when  he  was  just  a  shepherd  boy; 
and  he  thought  to  himself  that  God  had 
taken  care  of  him  just  as  carefully  as  he 
used  to  care  for  the  little  lambs.  It  is  a 
beautiful  song;  I  wish  we  knew  the  music 
that  David  made  for  it,  but  we  only 
know  his  words.  I  will  tell  it  to  you  now, 
and  then  you  may  learn  it,  to  say  for 
yourselves. 


284     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

C\)t  HortJ  is  my  sfyerterti ;  31  sijall  not 
ioant, 

fyt  mafcetl)  me  to  lie  Doton  in  green 
pastures?;  tie  lea&fttj  me  bmut  ttje  still 
toaters* 

j^e  restore^  mp  soul;  tje  lea&etfc  me 
in  ttje  partis  of  righteousness  for  l)is 
name's  sake* 

§0ea,  tljougl)  3  toalfe  tljrougf)  t\)t  ballet 
of  tfte  sfca&oto  of  Heart),  %  totil  fear  no  etJiU 
for  tfjou  art  toiti)  me;  t\)v  rot)  ant)  tljv1  staff 
ttiep  comfort  me* 

t&tiou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  tije 
presence  of  mine  enemies:  tfcou  anointest 
m^  IjeaD  toitl)  oil;  mp  cup  runnert)  otoer* 

g>urel£  goouness  ano  merci?  stjall  folloto 
me  all  tfce  Daps  of  mp  life:  anD  31  toili 
atoell  in  tfce  ftouse  of  ttje  iloro  for  etoer. 


THE   HIDDEN   SERVANTS1 

This  is  a  legend  about  a  hermit  who  lived 
long  ago.  He  lived  high  up  on  the  moun- 
tain-side in  a  tiny  cave;  his  food  was  roots 
and  acorns,  a  bit  of  bread  given  by  a 
peasant,  or  a  cheese  brought  by  a  woman 
who  wanted  his  prayers;    his  work  was 

1  Adapted,  with  quotations,  from  the  poem  in  The  Hidden 
Servants,  by  Francesca  Alexander  (Little,  Brown  &  Co.). 


THE   HIDDEN   SERVANTS  2S5 

praying,  and  thinking  about  God.  For 
forty  years  he  lived  so,  preaching  to  the 
people,  praying  for  them,  comforting  them 
in  trouble,  and,  most  of  all,  worshiping 
in  his  heart.  There  was  just  one  thing  he 
cared  about:  it  was  to  make  his  soul  so 
pure  and  perfect  that  it  could  be  one  of  the 
stones  in  God's  great  Temple  of  Heaven. 
One  day,  after  the  forty  years,  he  had  a 
great  longing  to  know  how  far  along  he 
had  got  with  his  work,  —  how  it  looked  to 
the  Heavenly  Father.  And  he  prayed  that 
he  might  be  shown  a  man  — 

"Whose  soul  in  the  heavenly  grace  had  grown 
To  the  selfsame  measure  as  his  own ; 
Whose  treasure  on  the  celestial  shore 
Could  neither  be  less  than  his  nor  more." 

As  he  looked  up  from  his  prayer,  a 
white-robed  angel  stood  in  the  path  before 
him.  The  hermit  bowed  before  the  mes- 
senger with  great  gladness,  for  he  knew 
that  his  wish  was  answered.  "Go  to  the 
nearest  town,"  the  angel  said,  "and  there, 
in  the  public  square,  you  will  find  a  moun- 
tebank (a  clown)  making  the  people  laugh 
for  money.  He  is  the  man  you  seek;  his 
soul  has  grown  to  the  selfsame  stature  as 


236    STORIES   TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

your  own;  his  treasure  on  the  celestial 
shore  is  neither  less  than  yours  nor  more." 

When  the  angel  had  faded  from  sight, 
the  hermit  bowed  his  head  again,  but  this 
time  with  great  sorrow  and  fear.  Had  his 
forty  years  of  prayer  been  a  terrible  mis- 
take, and  was  his  soul  indeed  like  a  clown, 
fooling  in  the  market-place  ?  He  knew  not 
what  to  think.  Almost  he  hoped  he  should 
not  find  the  man,  and  could  believe  that  he 
had  dreamed  the  angel  vision.  But  when 
he  came,  after  a  long,  toilful  walk,  to  the 
village,  and  the  square,  alas !  there  was  the 
clown,  doing  his  silly  tricks  for  the  crowd. 

The  hermit  stood  and  looked  at  him 
with  terror  and  sadness,  for  he  felt  that  he 
was  looking  at  his  own  soul.  The  face  he 
saw  was  thin  and  tired,  and  though  it  kept 
a  smile  or  a  grin  for  the  people,  it  seemed 
very  sad  to  the  hermit.  Soon  the  man  felt 
the  hermit's  eyes ;  he  could  not  go  on  with 
his  tricks.  And  when  he  had  stopped  and 
the  crowd  had  left,  the  hermit  went  and 
drew  the  man  aside  to  a  place  where  they 
could  rest;  for  he  wanted  more  than  any- 
thing else  on  earth  to  know  what  the  man's 
soul  was  like,  because  what  it  was,  his  was. 


THE   HIDDEN  SERVANTS  2S7 

So,  after  a  little,  he  asked  the  clown,  very 
gently,  what  his  life  was,  what  it  had  been. 
And  the  clown  answered,  very  sadly,  that 
it  was  just  as  it  looked,  —  a  life  of  foolish 
tricks,  for  that  was  the  only  way  of  earning 
his  bread  that  he  knew. 

"But  have  you  never  been  anything 
different ?"  asked  the  hermit,  painfully. 

The  clown's  head  sank  in  his  hands. 
"Yes,  holy  father,"  he  said,  "I  have  been 
something  else.  I  was  a  thief!  I  once  be- 
longed to  the  wickedest  band  of  mountain 
robbers  that  ever  tormented  the  land,  and 
I  was  as  wicked  as  the  worst." 

Alas !  The  hermit  felt  that  his  heart  was 
breaking.  Was  this  how  he  looked  to  the 
Heavenly  Father,  —  like  a  thief,  a  cruel 
mountain  robber  ?  He  could  hardly  speak, 
and  the  tears  streamed  from  his  old  eyes, 
but  he  gathered  strength  to  ask  one  more 
question.  "I  beg  you,"  he  said,  "if  you 
have  ever  done  a  single  good  deed  in 
your  life,  remember  it  now,  and  tell  it 
to  me;"  for  he  thought  that  even  one 
good  deed  would  save  him  from  utter 
despair. 

"Yes,  one,"  the  clown  said,  "but  it  was 


2S8    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

so  small,  it  is  not  worth  telling;  my  life 
has  been  worthless." 

"Tell  me  that  one!"  pleaded  the  her- 
mit. 

"Once,"  said  the  man,  "our  band  broke 
into  a  convent  garden  and  stole  away  one 
of  the  nuns,  to  sell  as  a  slave  or  to  keep  for 
a  ransom.  We  dragged  her  with  us  over 
the  rough,  long  way  to  our  mountain  camp, 
and  set  a  guard  over  her  for  the  night.  The 
poor  thing  prayed  to  us  so  piteously  to 
let  her  go !  And  as  she  begged,  she  looked 
from  one  hard  face  to  another  with  trust- 
ing, imploring  eyes,  as  if  she  could  not 
believe  men  could  be  really  bad.  Father, 
when  her  eyes  met  mine  something  pierced 
my  heart!  Pity  and  shame  leaped  up,  for 
the  first  time,  within  me.  But  I  made  my 
face  as  hard  and  cruel  as  the  rest,  and  she 
turned  away,  hopeless. 

"When  all  was  dark  and  still,  I  stole  like 
a  cat  to  where  she  lay  bound.  I  put  my 
hand  on  her  wrist  and  whispered,  'Trust 
me,  and  I  will  take  you  safely  home/ 
I  cut  her  bonds  with  my  knife,  and  she 
looked  at  me  to  show  that  she  trusted. 
Father,    by   terrible    ways    that    I    knew. 


THE   HIDDEN   SERVANTS  239 

hidden  from  the  others,  I  took  her  safe 
to  the  convent  gate.  She  knocked;  they 
opened;  and  she  slipped  inside.  And,  as 
she  left  me,  she  turned  and  said, '  God  will 
remember.' 

"That  was  all.  I  could  not  go  back  to 
the  old  bad  life,  and  I  had  never  learned 
an  honest  way  to  earn  my  bread.  So  I  be- 
came a  clown,  and  must  be  a  clown  until 
I  die." 

"No!  no!  my  son,"  cried  the  hermit, 
and  now  his  tears  were  tears  of  joy.  "  God 
has  remembered;  your  soul  is  in  his  sight 
even  as  mine,  who  have  prayed  and 
preached  for  forty  years.  Your  treasure 
waits  for  you  on  the  heavenly  shore  just 
as  mine  does." 

"As  yours?  Father,  you  mock  me!" 
said  the  clown. 

But  when  the  hermit  told  him  the  story 
of  his  prayer  and  the  angel's  answer,  the 
poor  clown  was  transfigured  with  joy, 
for  he  knew  that  his  sins  were  forgiven. 
And  when  the  hermit  went  home  to  his 
mountain,  the  clown  went  with  him.  He, 
too,  became  a  hermit,  and  spent  his  time 
in  praise  and  prayer. 


240    STORIES  TO  TELL  TO  CHILDREN 

Together  they  lived,  and  worked,  and 
helped  the  poor.  And  when,  after  two 
years,  the  man  who  had  been  a  clown 
died,  the  hermit  felt  that  he  had  lost  a 
brother  holier  than  himself. 

For  ten  years  more  the  hermit  lived  in 
his  mountain  hut,  thinking  always  of  God, 
fasting  and  praying,  and  doing  no  least 
thing  that  was  wrong.  Then,  one  day,  the 
wish  once  more  came,  to  know  how  his 
work  was  growing,  and  once  more  he 
prayed  that  he  might  see  a  being  — 

"Whose  soul  in  the  heavenly  grace  had  grown 
To  the  selfsame  measure  as  his  own  ; 
Whose  treasure  on  the  celestial  shore 
Could  neither  be  less  than  his  nor  more." 

Once  more  his  prayer  was  answered. 
The  angel  came  to  him,  and  told  him  to 
go  to  a  certain  village  on  the  other  side 
of  the  mountain,  and  to  a  small  farm 
in  it,  where  two  women  lived.  In  them 
he  should  find  two  souls  like  his  own,  in 
God's  sight. 

When  the  hermit  came  to  the  door  of  the 
little  farm,  the  two  women  who  lived  there 
were  overjoyed  to  see  him,  for  every  one 
loved  and  honored  his  name.    They  put 


THE  HIDDEN  SERVANTS  241 

a  chair  for  him  on  the  cool  porch,  and 
brought  food  and  drink.  But  the  hermit 
was  too  eager  to  wait.  He  longed  greatly 
to  know  what  the  souls  of  the  two  women 
were  like,  and  from  their  looks  he  could 
see  only  that  they  were  gentle  and  honest. 
One  was  old,  and  the  other  of  middle  age. 

Presently  he  asked  them  about  their 
lives.  They  told  him  the  little  there  was  to 
tell:  they  had  worked  hard  always,  in  the 
fields  with  their  husbands,  or  in  the  house ; 
they  had  many  children;  they  had  seen 
hard  times, — sickness,  sorrow;  but  they 
had  never  despaired. 

"But  what  of  your  good  deeds,"  the 
hermit  asked,  —  "what  have  you  done  for 
God?" 

"Very  little,"  they  said,  sadly,  for  they 
were  too  poor  to  give  much.  To  be  sure, 
twice  every  year,  when  they  killed  a  sheep 
for  food,  they  gave  half  to  their  poorer 
neighbors. 

"That  is  very  good,  very  faithful,"  the 
hermit  said.  "And  is  there  any  other  good 
deed  you  have  done?" 

"Nothing,"  said  the  older  woman,  "un- 
less, unless  —  it  might  be  called  a  good 


242     STORIES  TO  TELL  TO   CHILDREN 

deed  — "      She    looked    at    the    younger 
woman,  who  smiled  back  at  her. 

"What?"  said  the  hermit. 

Still  the  woman  hesitated;  but  at  last 
she  said,  timidly,  "It  is  not  much  to  tell, 
father,  only  this,  that  it  is  twenty  years 
since  my  sister-in-law  and  I  came  to  live 
together  in  the  house;  we  have  brought 
up  our  families  here;  and  in  all  the 
twenty  years  there  has  never  been  a  cross 
word  between  us,  or  a  look  that  was 
less  than  kind." 

The  hermit  bent  his  head  before  the 
two  women,  and  gave  thanks  in  his  heart. 
"If  my  soul  is  as  these,"  he  said,  "I  am 
blessed  indeed." 

And  suddenly  a  great  light  came  into 
the  hermit's  mind,  and  he  saw  how  many 
ways  there  are  of  serving  God.  Some 
serve  him  in  churches  and  in  hermit's  cells, 
by  praise  and  prayer ;  some  poor  souls  who 
have  been  very  wicked  turn  from  their 
wickedness  with  sorrow,  and  serve  him 
with  repentance;  some  live  faithfully  and 
gently  in  humble  homes,  working,  bring- 
ing up  children,  keeping  kind  and  cheerful ; 
some   bear    pain    patiently,  for  his  sake. 


THE  HIDDEN  SERVANTS  243 

Endless,  endless  ways  there  are,  that  only 
the  Heavenly  Father  sees. 

And  so,  as  the  hermit  climbed  the  moun- 
tain again,  he  thought,  — 

"As  he  saw  the  star-like  glow 
Of  light,  in  the  cottage  windows  far, 
How  many  God's  hidden  servants  are!" 


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